Stepping from Shadows
by Momatu
Summary: On an ordinary Friday in an ordinary town an ordinary boy meets an extraordinary girl. (The OC is a character named Gray, who is my incarnation of vampire Bella. I'm not sure if she really is an OC. I think she shares too much of canon Edward's history to really be an OC, but since I changed her name, I'm changing the listing from Edward/Bella to Edward/OC)
1. Chapter 1

Hi! I've been working on this fic for four years, but more often than not, it's been on the back burner while I worked on other things. It's nearly completely written, 20 chapters and about 170,000 words, and is currently being beta read and edited. I don't know how often I'll be able to update, but I'm hoping for every other weekend. Life is just a bit too hectic right now for more often. It was important to me to publish it today, because today is the 97th anniversary of the 19th amendment going into effect, giving American women the right to vote, which you'll see the significance of as the story progresses. _Stepping from Shadows_ will be the first part of a two part fic, but the second half hasn't been started at all, and I honestly don't know when I'll be able to. I believe it can stand alone, but a secondary story line will be open ended if I can't get part two finished. The title comes from Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott."

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years-literally, _years_ -of support and encouragement.

It's been a long time since I posted a Twilight fic, so I'm out of touch. If anyone knows of any fic rec'ing sites where I can post teasers for the next chapter, please let me know.

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I originally listed this as Edward/Bella, but I've changed that to OC. I didn't list that originally because, apart from being a girl and the family history I created for her, Gray's history is canon Edward's. But because I changed her name, I think that would be best.

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 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

 _._

* * *

 _But in her web she still delights  
To weave the mirror's magic sights,  
For often thro' the silent nights  
A funeral, with plumes and lights  
And music, went to Camelot:  
Or when the moon was overhead,  
Came two young lovers lately wed:  
"I am half sick of shadows," said  
The Lady of Shalott._

 _Alfred, Lord Tennyson **  
**_

 _ **.**_

 _STEPPING FROM SHADOWS_

 _Chapter One_

"How's it going over there?" Edward asked, referring to the jigsaw puzzle his best friend promised would be a couple of motorcycles when he finished with them. Edward shook his head. He knew his friend was a born mechanic and could take apart anything and put it back together, but the old bikes they'd picked up had hardly qualified as motorcycles when he'd started on them, and Edward was afraid Jake had met his match in the broken-down old relics. The bikes had been but put out with the garbage after all, and even Jake couldn't work miracles.

"You just let me worry about mine, and I'll let you worry about yours." Jake's back was to him, but Edward could hear the smirk in his friend's voice. "Make yourself useful back there. Hand me a socket wrench."

Edward looked up from his laptop, his fingers paused mid-word. "A what?"

"Oh, God. You're useless. You're sure you're a guy, right? Tell me again why I let you hang around with me?"

Edward grinned and smacked his friend in the back of the head with a beat up, paperback copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_. "Because otherwise you'd have to write your own damn English papers. And you'd fail."

Rubbing his head exaggeratedly, Jake laughed. "Right. Knew there was a reason." He grabbed the needed socket wrench. "So, how's the paper coming?"

Edward typed one more sentence and hit save. "You just finished."

"Cool. How'd I do?"

"Maybe a B minus, if your teacher is in a good mood."

"What? Couldn't get me an A?"

"Oh, I could. But who'd believe it?"

"Smart ass."

"Oh, hey. Did I tell'ya? We're getting new kids at school after Easter," Edward said as took the flash drive out of a USB port. "You did at least read the Cliff notes in case she asks you a question, right?"

"Sure, sure. Thanks, man. I owe you one."

"You owe me a couple dozen," Edward responded, pointing to the bikes. "Just get those fixed up, and we'll call it even."

"Shit! Fuck! Dammit!" A wrench landed with a sharp clang on the cement floor as Jake swore loudly, clutching his right hand in his left and cradling it against his chest.

Edward jumped up. "What happened? You okay?"

"Goddammit!"

"Let me see."

Edward took his friend's injured hand. As he'd known it would, Jacob's hand felt like he was running a high fever. However, while it was not a surprise, the hot temperature of his friend's skin was still a shock. There was some rare genetic thing that made Jake's body temperature run high—like, very high. High enough to be uncomfortable to the touch. He would outgrow in time, his father had told him. Jake's father'd had it at their age, too. Edward didn't pretend to understand it.

The cut looked bad. Blood was dripping from Jake's palm down his forearm, and Edward felt the room start to spin. He never had been able to stand the sight of blood—something that embarrassed him to no end.

Knowing his friend's reaction to the sight of blood, Jake tried to pull his bleeding hand back. "Last thing we need is you passed out on the floor."

"I'm not going to pass out, dumbass. Puke, maybe. Jake, this looks bad. I think you need to have this looked at. We should get your dad. I think you're gonna need stitches."

"Nah," Jake said, grabbing a clean kitchen towel from the clothes line and wrapping it around his hand. "We're made of tougher stuff than you palefaces."

"Jake—"

"Don't make a big deal about it." Jake pulled the towel away. "Look. See? It's stopped bleeding already."

Unbelievably, it had. But Edward was still doubtful. Bleeding or not, the cut looked bad—an angry, jagged red line across Jake's palm.

"You'n Charlie are coming for Easter dinner, right?" Jake asked, changing the subject.

His mind still on the cut on Jake's hand, Edward answered, "'Course." A moment later, putting his laptop in his backpack as an excuse to not have to look at Jake, he asked hesitantly, "Leah around?"

Jacob grabbed an old bed sheet he kept in the shed to wipe grease off his hands while he was working and tore a piece of fabric from a still-clean corner to wrap around his injured hand. He glanced at Edward out of the corner of his eye before turning away and resuming his work on the bikes. "You're not still after Leah, are you? I thought you got that idea out of your head. Dude, you gotta let it go. It ain't happening."

Keeping his eyes averted, Edward shrugged. His unrequited crush on the daughter of one of his father's closest friends was as much of a source of embarrassment to him as his reaction to the sight of blood. Edward had once believed Leah Clearwater to be his one-and-only, the love of his life, the only girl in the world for him—but he'd been all of twelve years old at the time, and he'd gotten over it quickly enough once school had started back up in September and all of Lauren Mallory's shirts had seemed to have shrunk over the summer.

Leah hadn't been interested then, and she wasn't interested now, not even after having had her heart broken by her jerk of an ex-boyfriend.

His friend sighed. "You could get any girl you wanted—except one—and that's the one you decide you want."

"If I could get any girl I wanted, I promise you, I wouldn't be spending my Friday afternoon with you, in a garage, doing your homework."

* * *

As was so often the case in the Pacific Northwest, the sky above was dark and ominous. It had started drizzling by the time Edward left Jake's to meet up with his father for dinner, but the real rain promised in those thick, grey clouds wouldn't arrive until later—or so promised the weatherman.

Edward was running late, but as he pulled into the parking lot at Pacific Pizza, he noticed his dad's patrol car wasn't there yet. He glanced up at the sky as he pulled the key from the ignition. By the look of things, he didn't think the chances of the real rain holding off as long as the forecaster had said were very good. Inside the restaurant, one of his classmates was working behind the counter, and she smiled at him as he entered.

"Hey, Edward. Meeting your dad?"

"Hey, Katie. Yeah, he should be here soon." As Edward opened the cooler to grab himself a can of Sprite, he remembered Jake's words from earlier. Katie _had_ smiled at him when he came in. . . .

 _Jake's right. This thing for Leah's fucking embarrassing—wanting a girl who clearly couldn't care less if she ever saw me again. I don't think Katie's seeing anyone. I wonder if she's got a date for prom?_

Edward slid the cooler door shut, debating with himself. Katie Marshall was cute, he thought, though he'd never considered her as anything more than the girl who lived around the corner. She had straight red hair that she'd worn the same way—cut to her chin and pulled back from her face with a headband—since they were children. There was a scattering of freckles across her nose, and she had bright blue eyes that crinkled prettily when she laughed. One of the tallest girls in their class, she had a slim, athletic build, which had gotten her a spot on the varsity girls' basketball team in their freshman year. He wondered why he'd never noticed how pretty she was.

The door opened behind him, and Edward turned, expecting to see his dad, but rather than his father, he saw that another classmate of his had come in. He also saw that the smile Katie gave him wasn't the same smile he himself had gotten. Edward sighed. _So much for that idea._

So, Eric Yorkie and Katie Marshall . . . They were a rather odd couple, Edward thought—Katie was athletic and Eric was, well, something of a geek. A reporter for the school paper, Eric wore dress shirts and ties with his jeans and sneakers. But he was a good guy, and the way they were making doe-eyes at each other, Katie looked on top of the world. They smiled goofy smiles as they whispered between themselves, and Edward chose a booth where the seat cushions weren't as badly torn as the rest and sat facing the parking lot. He told himself he was being polite—trying to give Katie and Eric some privacy while they talked—but in reality, he knew he didn't feel up to seeing the two of them so obviously into each other. Not when the girl he wanted to smile at him like Katie smiled at Eric didn't give a flying fuck about him.

While he waited for his father, Edward mentally ran through all the girls at school who he was at least reasonably sure he hadn't heard any of the guys say they'd planned to ask to prom. There was no one at school he was remotely interested in—but it was just prom, just one night. He wasn't the most popular guy at school by any means, but he had plenty of friends. He was athletic—by far the best cross country runner in the county, even as only a junior. He was tall and not too bad looking. It was only prom, only one night; he had to be able to find _someone_ to go with, he told himself. He was smart and funny. . . .

 _Fuck, isn't that what girls always say when they try to let you down easy? You're smart and funny, but I just don't like you like that._

Edward's mind wandered back to Leah, and he berated himself. It was time to stop thinking about Leah.

 _Ben's asking Angela—well, assuming he doesn't chicken out, but she's off limits regardless. Mike said he's asking Jessica._ Edward shivered. Jessica would be a NO even if Mike hadn't said he wanted to ask her. Edward had gone out with Jessica Stanley for a month at the beginning of their sophomore year, and she'd already been talking about going to the same college so they could be together always. He hoped Mike knew what he was getting himself into.

Edward looked out the window into the parking lot. His father's patrol car was still nowhere to be seen, and he glanced down at his watch. He should've been there by then.

Behind him, Katie and Eric continued to talk quietly, and every once in a while, he could hear the way Katie laughed at something Eric had said. There was something thrilling about hearing a girl laugh like that at something you'd said, Edward thought. He had to accept that, as much as he wanted it, he would never hear Leah laugh like that. Not at something he'd said, anyway.

 _Lauren? No. God, no. Tight shirts or not—just, no. June Richardson? I could ask her maybe. Or Samantha Wells? No, Lee said he wants to ask her. June's kind of cute._

As Edward stared blankly into the parking lot mentally run through girls at school he didn't think had been asked to prom yet, his father's patrol car pulled in, and tension Edward hadn't wanted to acknowledge eased from his shoulders. He supposed that was something every cop's kid felt when their parent was running late leaving work—had his father been an accountant or a lawyer, he'd have just assumed he'd gotten tied up. But Edward's father was the Chief of Police, and even in a small town like Forks, Washington, there was always that small, nagging thought in the back of his head whenever his father was late, whether he consciously acknowledged it or not.

 _What if something's happened? What if…?_

His father saw him sitting by the window as he crossed the parking lot and nodded his head at him. Edward had seen the expression on his father's face before—not often, thankfully, but enough times to recognize it. It had been a bad day at the office, and when the office was the police station, a bad day didn't mean a few rude customers or a losing out on a bid. When your father was a cop, you didn't ask about the bad days. Edward knew his father would tell him as much as he could—meaning, as much as would be on tonight's news or in tomorrow's paper—in his own time.

As his father removed his coat and sat across from him, Edward saw how pale and worn out he looked. It had been a particularly bad day. His father looked older than he had when he'd seen him briefly that morning. His eyes were tired, sad. Edward knew those eyes; they'd seen too much today.

"You order yet?" his father asked.

"No, I waited. I've only been here a few minutes myself," he answered, playing down the length of time he'd been waiting. He took a drink of his soda, fidgeted, and said, "I was just thinking about asking someone to prom, actually." Edward knew his father knew all about his unrequited crush on Leah, though he never mentioned it.

His father met his eyes for a moment before looking away. "Yeah? Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Who'd you have in mind?"

"No idea."

Edward set his empty can of Sprite down, and he and his father went up to the counter to place their orders. Katie pulled herself away from Eric, but her smile—the smile that was all for Eric—never left her face, and her blue eyes returned to his frequently.

It was a normal Friday night, totally mundane in every way. The day had been uneventful, the same as any other day, and the evening would be the same as any other evening. When they got home, they'd probably put a game on. Or maybe they'd have a game of pool. Nothing ever happened in Forks.

All that changed as Edward happened to glance out the window as they were sitting back down, and in one single instant the world shifted beneath his feet. Standing beside a black Mercedes with windows so darkly tinted they were nearly as black as the car was the most beautiful girl Edward had ever seen. Spellbound, he was frozen as he was the moment his eyes landed on her—half sitting, half standing. He could feel the air rush from his lungs. He could hear himself saying, "Ho—ly _fuck_ ," pronouncing it as three separate words. She had dark hair and very pale skin. She was wearing a simple white shirt under a light blue raincoat. It was still drizzling, and as she stood at the back of the car and looked around the parking lot, she pulled her hood over her head and turned toward a woman whose face Edward couldn't see, who'd come around from the other side of the car and joined her.

Edward wished the girl would turn back, but with her face being hidden from his view, the world returned to normal. Whatever spell she had cast on him was broken, and he sat down heavily. His father looked at him sternly—Edward never swore in front of his father.

"Sorry," he said. "But did you see her? God, she's—" As his father turned to look, Edward exclaimed, panicked, "Don't look!"

"Girl in the blue raincoat? She's coming in," his father said as Katie set his coffee in front of him without saying a word. She was no longer smiling.

"Dad!"

His father laughed at him the way all parents laugh at embarrassed teenagers—the laugh that said they wouldn't want to be a teenager again for all the money in the world.

"She can't hear me from the parking lot, you know."

Katie looked toward the parking lot, rolling her eyes. Eric was at the counter, and he was looking toward the parking lot, too, his eyes wide. Looking at him, Edward knew why Katie's smile had fallen. Eric had seen the girl, too.

Behind him, Edward heard the door open. He felt his heart beat faster until it felt like it was throwing itself against his rib cage. His palms felt sweaty, and he wiped them on his thighs. He couldn't remember ever reacting like this to a girl before—not, of course, that he'd ever seen a girl that beautiful before. Girls who looked like that belonged in New York or L.A., in movies or in magazines. They did not show up in places like Forks.

At least, they sure as hell never had before.

The noise level in the room dropped as every conversation stopped abruptly. Eric and he were not the only ones to notice the newcomers.

Steeling his nerves, Edward glanced over his shoulder toward the counter. He could see the back of the light blue raincoat, the hood still raised. The girl was wearing dark blue jeans and black boots that came to her knees. He couldn't make out a shape because of the raincoat, but a girl that beautiful had to have a body to match.

Christ, he wished she'd turn around.

Beside the girl stood the other woman, whose face Edward could now see in profile. She was taller, older—a sister or an aunt, perhaps. Her hair was long like the girl's, but a lighter shade. She was also stunningly beautiful—though not as beautiful as the girl. No one could be as beautiful as the girl, in Edward's opinion.

The woman was speaking to Katie, who looked as mesmerized as Edward felt. At least, Edward consoled himself, his mouth wasn't hanging open like Eric's was—but that could possibly be because Eric could see the girl's face, and he couldn't. The woman's voice floated across the room like music. Though he couldn't hear her clearly enough to make out what she was saying, Edward could tell it was the type of voice that belonged on stage reciting Shakespeare.

Then the girl turned.

With her hood still raised, Edward could only see a sliver of her face, but that was enough to stop the world from spinning. The girl raised her hands to her head. She hesitated, as if she might lower them again, but then she slowly pushed her hood down.

Edward's mouth went dry; she was looking directly at him. Some part of his mind was telling him to look away, to play it cool—to not do something to completely humiliate himself—but his body didn't respond. He was unable to move a muscle. This was how a small animal felt, cowering in front of a much larger and more powerful predator, Edward thought. But no sooner had the thought passed through his mind than he realized the girl wasn't moving either. She was as perfectly still as a statue. Her arms were still raised, her hands still on the hood of her raincoat.

She looked confused, he thought, as she stared at him. Her eyebrows were drawn together, her forehead creased as if she was considering some difficult question. She looked worried.

The woman she was with touched her arm, and the girl turned away from him. Her eyes were only away from him for a moment before returning, but the short respite from the intensity of the girl's gaze had been enough for Edward's mind to clear, and he could see beyond her beauty. He noticed how very tired she looked. Even from where he sat, Edward could see dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept well, if at all, the night before. Or possibly several nights before, he suspected. He noticed that her skin wasn't just fair, it was ghostly pale—pasty, even. Had she'd been sick and not yet fully recovered? Edward saw her lips move—she had full, deep pink lips in contrast to the fairness of her skin—but she spoke too softly for her voice to carry to where he sat.

"They'll be ready in a few minutes, Mrs. Cullen," Edward heard Katie say.

"Thank you," the woman responded, smiling kindly and returning a wallet to her purse.

The woman turned toward Edward, but unlike the girl, she did not look directly at him. Both she and the girl had the same fair skin, and Edward noticed the woman had the same circles under her eyes as the girl. Both were indescribably beautiful, but that was where the similarities ended. Their faces bore no resemblance other than their remarkably fair skin and tired eyes.

Edward sat facing forward. His stomach was twisting itself into knots.

 _A few minutes. They'll only be here for a few minutes. She'll only be here for a few minutes. And then she'll leave. She'll put her hood back up, get back into her car, and drive away._

 _And I'll never see her again._

He stared hard at the Formica table top, trying to resist the urge to turn around so he could see the girl for as long as possible, even if it would just be a few minutes more.

"Mrs. Cullen?" his father asked.

Edward inhaled sharply and looked at his father, his eyes wide with disbelief. From behind him, the girl and the woman had approached the table where he and his father sat.

"Yes?" the woman responded, her surprise evident as she stopped at their table, her eyes quickly darting to the girl beside her. But the girl was looking directly at him. Edward now knew how a deer felt when it darted out of the woods onto the highway and the headlights of an oncoming 18-wheeler paralyzed it where it stood.

"Welcome to Forks, ma'am. Chief Swan, Forks Police Department. I hope you and your family are settling in well?"

The girl's eyes slid from Edward to his father, the confusion apparent on her face deepening.

Wishing he could crawl into a hole and disappear, Edward slid low in his seat. What the hell was his father doing? Since when was he the fucking head of the Forks Welcoming Committee?

"Oh. Oh, yes. Yes, thank you, Chief Swan. That's, that's very kind of you. Yes, I'm sure we'll all be very happy here." The woman, Mrs. Cullen, turned toward the girl beside her. "Isn't that so, Gray?"

 _Gray,_ Edward thought to himself. _Her name is Gray._ He couldn't for the life of him think of a less appropriate name for such a radiantly beautiful girl.

"My daughter, Gray," Mrs. Cullen said to his father by way of an introduction. "Gray is a junior. She and her sister and cousin will begin school after Spring Break."

"My son Edward here is a junior as well."

Edward gaped at his father helplessly.

 _Say something, stupid! You need to say something! Hello. Say hello._ Turning to the girl, Edward opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He could feel his face heat up. _What kind of moron are you? Say something!_

 _Fuck, she's going to my school! She's one of the new kids everyone's been talking about all week!_

He tried again to speak, but again he failed.

It was some slight consolation to him that the girl looked as much at loss as he was. She looked like she had no idea what she was supposed to say or do; if Edward felt like a deer in headlights, the girl looked like a fish out of water. The idea he'd had a moment ago when he thought her pallid complexion may be due to her having been ill and not fully recovered strengthened. She looked like she felt sick.

And scared. For some reason, the girl—Gray—looked scared.

 _Yeah, probably because you keep staring at her. Christ, you must look like some kind of fucking creepy stalker._

Edward forced his eyes away from the girl, from Gray. _Gray. What kind of name is that for an angel?_ He turned his attention to the parking lot. The rain had stopped.

He could see Gray's reflection in the window. Her eyes were boring into the back of his head so intently she could have been trying to see inside him.

Abruptly, she walked to the booth next to theirs, sitting so that she was facing him.

He sighed. _You dumbass. She's new in town and about to start at your school. You're introduced to her, and rather than say hello like a normal human being, you turn your head away. Smooth. Could you possibly have been any bigger of a jackass?_

Mentally berating himself, Edward lowered his head, and peeked at Gray out of the corner of his eye—surreptitiously, he hoped. She had her eyes closed tightly. Her hands were steepled in front of her face, her index fingers pressed firmly against the bridge of her nose. A moment later, she pressed her fingertips forcefully to her forehead, moving them in a circular motion, as if trying to massage away a headache.

Her mother leaned across the table to her, and Edward assumed she whispered something to her, because Gray shook her head as if answering no. It had surprised Edward that the woman had introduced Gray as her daughter. There was no way she was old enough to have a daughter their age.

As Gray again shifted position—opening her hands and resting her forehead against her palms, her fingers weaving into her hair—Edward wondered if she suffered from migraines.

Gray lowered her hands and pressed her fingertips against her forehead. Edward could see her eyes watching him closely through her fingers.

So quickly it startled him, she sat up straighter and lowered her hands, looking everywhere but at him.

Keeping her eyes averted, she pulled a phone from her coat pocket, moving unusually slowly. She shook her head, and her eyes closed for a brief moment. She looked annoyed, and Edward again saw her lips move as her thumbs slid over the screen of her phone, but just as before, although he sat only roughly six feet from her, he couldn't hear even a whisper of her voice, not the slightest sound.

"So, what'd you and Jake get up to this afternoon?"

"What?" Edward asked, pulled from his thoughts.

His father repeated his question as he sipped his coffee.

"Jake was working on the—"

Edward caught himself just in time. He'd been so wrapped up in thinking about Gray that he'd almost blown it big time. If his father ever found out about the bikes Jake was fixing up, he'd go apeshit. Not too much could truly send his father into a rage, but learning about those bikes would do it. He felt guilty going behind his father's back, but he couldn't help himself. The thought of speeding down the highway on his bike was like a drug he couldn't resist.

Besides, he consoled himself, in spite of Jake's confidence, he wasn't at all sure his friend was up to the challenge. Not that he'd ever admit it to Jake, but in spite of the progress he swore he was making, Edward wasn't sure the bikes would ever be anything more than motorcycle-shaped piles of scrap metal.

"We were just hanging out in the back, in the garage. Jake's been fixing up the Rabbit," Edward said, referring to the old Volkswagen Rabbit his best friend had been working on since before he'd had a license to drive it. "He got a couple parts from this place down in Hoquiam he was all excited about." That part, at least, was true.

Edward's attention was pulled back to Gray when she slid out of the booth, walking to the cooler and getting a can of soda for herself. She drank Sprite as well, he noticed. She opened the can and raised it to her lips, but something about the action looked wrong, he thought, although he couldn't put his finger on what it was. Setting the can down, her eyes fell to the tabletop.

Soon, Katie brought their dinners out. "Here we are," she said as she set their plates down. "Another coffee, Chief Swan?"

"Please, Katie."

Katie's eyes darted to Gray and her mother at the next booth before returning to Edward, her eyebrow arching questioningly before she returned to the kitchen, a teasing smirk on her lips.

Edward's eyes flickered repeatedly back to Gray, but she was looking out the window, down at the table, at her phone, anywhere but toward him. He felt the loss of those eyes on him as if something had been ripped away from inside him.

As he raised his fork to his mouth, those tired-looking eyes fixed on him once again which such intensity, it startled him. Although her face was angled toward the swinging door to the kitchen directly across from their booth, she was undeniably watching at him out of the corner of her eye. A chill run up Edward's spine—she wasn't just looking at him, there was so much concentration in her face it was as if she were studying him—and his hand dropped.

Lasagna fell off his fork and landed on his leg.

In an instant, Edward felt his face flame with embarrassment. He wanted to crawl under the table and hide. _So much for not doing anything to humiliate myself._

He knew she'd been looking at him, knew it was too much too hope for that she might not have seen, but Edward risked a glance at her anyway. While Gray was looking up at the ceiling, seemingly fascinated by the dozens of brightly colored plastic Easter eggs hanging by ribbons, the corners of her lips twitched.

 _Glad I amuse you,_ Edward thought to himself, but no sooner had he thought it than he realized it was true. Some of the weariness looked to have left her eyes as they crinkled in amusement, and if he was in any way responsible for that, he was glad for it. Of course, he wished it had been something witty and clever he'd said that had caused those eyes to crinkle and those lips to want to smile. . . .

The swinging door was pushed open a moment later, and a man exited the kitchen carrying a stack of six pizzas, which he set down on the counter next to Katie. On their feet the moment the door opened, Gray and her mother were already approaching the counter, her mother pulling her wallet out once again to pay for the can of Sprite.

Keeping his head down, pushing the food around on his plate with his fork, Edward's eyes followed Gray as she took three of the pies and followed her mother out the door without a glance back toward him.

He watched her put the pizzas in the backseat. He watched her until she slipped into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. Turning from the window, he stared down at his plate, and his lips curved into a smile.

* * *

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Author's note:

Pacific Pizza is a real place in Forks. I've never been to Forks, but there are dozens of reviews for the place online, and several reviewers on different sites commented that the seat cushions in every booth were torn.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic after reading chapter one! I'm so flattered that so many reviewers mentioned _I remain, Yours_ after all this time.

A quick note I forgot to mention, this story is set in 2012. Not hugely important, but it is relevant here and there.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years-literally, _years_ -of support and encouragement.

One reader invited me to post teasers on her Facebook group, Pay It Forward. (groups/896806390388220/) So I'll post teasers there. If anyone knows of any other sites where I can post teasers for the next chapter, please let me know.

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I originally listed this as Edward/Bella, but I've changed that to OC. I didn't list that originally because, apart from being a girl and the family history I created for her, Gray's history is canon Edward's. But because I changed her name, I think that would be best.

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 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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* * *

 _STEPPING FROM SHADOWS_

 _Chapter Two_

The moment the car doors slammed shut behind them, Esme and Gray breathed a joint sigh of relief. Esme rested her hands on the steering wheel. Gray sat quietly, her head back, her eyes closed, breathing deeply and steadily through her nose. Having been confronted with a situation they had certainly not expected and had never experienced before, neither had known quite what to do, and both had been badly shaken.

Turning the key, Esme thought, _We can discuss what to do at the house. Sitting here any longer could attract attention._

The words were heard by Gray as clearly as if Esme had spoken them out loud, and she nodded her head in agreement. Gray had been able to hear the thoughts of every person she'd encountered over the past nine decades, whether she wanted to or not—until now. Until tonight, until the boy with the silent mind.

And the horrendous smell.

Encountering that nauseating odor had not been surprising. They had encountered it before—the last time they'd lived in Forks, Washington, over seventy years ago—and had known they would encounter it in the small town once more. The terrible shock had been who the source of the foul scent had been. The stench coming from the boy made his silent mind worrisome.

The repulsive odor emanating from the boy was that of the pack of werewolves living on a nearby Native American reservation.

The Cullen family were vampires, and werewolves were their only natural enemy.

 _If the pack has spread into the general populace in the area, perhaps it would be best if we left._ Esme's thoughts were anxious. As always, her first concern was the safety and well-being of her family. _They may not be amenable to continuing the treaty if the numbers are no longer against them._

Logically, Gray could see the sense in Esme's thoughts. There was not only the possibility that the pack had grown in size, spreading into the town of Forks, to worry about, but also the possibility that they'd evolved. She'd heard the thoughts of the three wolves they'd encountered in 1936 while hunting as clearly as she heard anyone else's. But from the boy eating dinner with his father—nothing.

Once on Highway 101, Gray rolled the window down. They had this stretch of road to themselves for a good mile or more in both directions. She'd taken a can of soda at the restaurant, and sticking her arm out the window, she poured it out along the side of the road as they drove. Just like the pizzas they'd bought, the can of soda had been nothing but a prop she'd pretended to drink from. She was a teenager—at least as far as the town of Forks was concerned—and in this day and age, teenage humans drank soda from cans. In another hundred years, God only knew what she'd have to pretend to do.

Idly, she watched the clear liquid pour from the can. A vampire's eyesight, along with all their senses, was exponentially stronger than a human's, and Gray could see each one of the carbonation bubbles. She wondered what it would feel like to a human to drink something with bubbles in it. Could they feel them? This is what the boy with the silent mind had been drinking. She wondered what it tasted like to him.

 _Maybe coming here was a mistake_ , Esme continued to fret. The Cullens were a family by deliberate choice rather than by the chance of birth, but they were a family, and Esme worried about her husband and those she considered her children every bit as much as any human wife and mother.

Returning to Forks had been something of a risk, if a negligible one, but when the time had come to pick themselves up once again and move on, it had been decided that the climate was so hospitable to them it was too good a location to avoid. They'd taken pains to establish that no one old enough to potentially remember them from their first residence in the small city still resided there today. The Quileute wolves had concerned them, but not unduly. However, if the pack had grown in size so much that they had spread into the population of Forks and had, by some unknown instinct, developed defenses against abilities the original wolves they'd met had not even known the Cullens possessed, it could be a very different situation than what they had expected.

Logically, leaving made sense. The family had arrived in Forks only the day before, but Lord knew, they'd had to pick up and move unexpectedly before. Their lives were a never-ending stream of leaving one place for another and beginning again. But this time, Gray could feel herself mentally digging in, planting her feet and refusing to budge. This time, she did not want to leave. It shouldn't matter to her. It never had before. But this time, it did.

And for the life of her, she had no idea why.

"Jasper will have the boy's information soon," she said. Attempting to reassure Esme, Gray reached over and squeezed her hand. "There's no reason to worry until we know more."

Jasper was the family computer hacker—a far cry from the Civil War major he'd been in his human life. If computer records needed to be altered or forged, which they very often did, the job fell to him. They had yet to come across a computer system he couldn't crack. Gray had texted him from the restaurant, alerting him to the possibility that the pack had expanded from the reservation. All Jasper had needed was the boy's name and age, and he would have everything from the hospital where he had been born to his latest report card in a matter of minutes.

The phone in Gray's pocket vibrated. "Speaking of. . . ."

There was no reason to put the phone on speaker. They could hear him, and Jasper could hear them as perfectly as if he was seated between them.

"Edward Charles Swan, born Forks, Washington, June 20, 1995. Only child. Father, Charles Geoffrey Swan, born Forks, Washington, 1972. Mother, Renee Swan, born Downey, California, 1976, maiden name Higginbotham, deceased, 1998. Swan Family goes back to the early 20th Century in Forks.

"Yes." Gray nodded her head, remembering another time, one long since passed. "I remember the Swan family—mother and father, two sons."

Continuing, Jasper said, "Same for the paternal grandmother's line. Family name was Owens. Helen Owens."

Gray remembered the Owenses as well, as did Esme. Helen Owens had been about the same age as the younger of the two Swan boys. There'd been several children. The family'd owned the local general store.

"There's no sign of Quileute lineage that I can find. I haven't gone into the mother's family, but I will. It's possible her family lived in the area prior to moving to California. Any chance the father on the birth certificate isn't the biological father? We can't rule out the possibility Charles Swan isn't really the boy's biological father. The parents were in the middle of a divorce at the time of the mother's death."

Gray and Esme looked at each other. Gray inhaled the fresh, cool air deeply as it whipped her hair around her face. Remembering the boy's and his father's features, she shook her head. Their hair color was different—the father's was dark brown, almost black, but while still brown, the boy's was lighter with rich reddish undertones which she was sure would make it gleam like bronze in the sun. The eyes were a different color as well, the father's dark brown where the boy's were kaleidoscopes of green, but their shape was the same, large and deep-set. The shape of the jawline, the curve of the mouth, the straight, narrow nose were the same. The skin was the same pale shade—though not nearly as pale as Gray's own, of course. "I don't think so. There's a notable resemblance. Whereas he doesn't resemble the Quileutes physically at all."

"I want to test something," Jasper continued. "If you can't hear him, I want to see if I can sense what he's feeling. You didn't say if either he or his father appeared aggressive."

All vampires awoke to this life with their senses exponentially heightened, but some awoke with extra gifts, special abilities they believed were the enhancement of talents or interests they'd had as a human. In Jasper, his ability to sway people—to encourage or incite them, relax and soothe them—as a human made him empathic as a vampire, able to not only sense emotion in others but to influence or even create it. Jasper could calm a rioting mob—or cause one.

Gray thought back, replaying every second from the first moment she'd heard Edward Swan notice her standing in the parking lot until Esme and she had driven too far to hear the father's mind and the minds of the other humans in the room.

The boy's initial reaction to her had been just like that of every other human male she'd ever encountered. His heart had beat faster, his breathing had accelerated, and his large, bottomless green eyes had widened with surprise and stared openly at her until he'd seemed to realize what he'd been doing and looked away. But those intense green eyes had returned to her over and over. Unlike his father, he'd been unable to speak when Esme had introduced her. His face had turned deep crimson when he'd dropped the food from his fork onto himself. No, there certainly hadn't been any aggression on his part. Far from it.

The father was perhaps cooler, more collected than was typical, but she'd seen nothing in his mind that indicated he knew what they were. However, nor had she heard anything in his thoughts regarding his intention to speak to them before he had stopped them. That had also rattled her, but his mind had been preoccupied by a call to the site of a fatal accident on the highway. The accident had been bloody, and she'd pushed his mind aside, having had no wish to torment herself. Looking back now, that could have been a diversionary tactic to guard his mind from her. But that presupposed foreknowledge of her gift. His thoughts did betray a sense of suspicion regarding them, but the concern she'd seen in his mind had been strictly professional in nature. That could have been a screen as well, but if it was, he was exceptionally skilled at guarding his thoughts.

"No, I don't believe so," she said.

"Nothing like the way the wolves reacted to you in 1936?"

Gray nearly barked with laughter at the mere thought. The boy no more resembled the members of the Quileute wolf pack in behavior than he did in appearance.

But he smelled like them; there was no getting around that.

"No, nothing remotely like," she responded as Esme turned off Highway 101 and onto the long, winding dirt road through the woods that led to their home. Not marked, the road was narrow and so well-concealed by the woods that surrounded it that a human would be hard-pressed to find it—which was exactly what they wanted.

Sitting well removed from the highway in a glade nearly ten miles north of Forks, the home they were currently residing in had been designed by Esme—her first large-scale project after becoming a qualified architect. Of all the Cullen properties, it was a sentimental favorite.

The three-story house came into view as the dense woods bordering the driveway began to thin. Gray had been able to hear her family's thoughts for the last three miles, and she could now hear them moving around inside the house as they gathered around the dining room table—which, belonging to a family of vampires, had never been used for its intended purpose.

Arriving in Forks only the day before, the family had split up and explored their new home, making various stops, visiting different places in town a human family moving into a new home might logically be expected to be seen. Esme and Gray were the last to return.

Jasper had hung up—they would discuss his plan and whether to stay or leave once inside the house—and Gray slid her phone back into the pocket of her raincoat.

As they pulled into the garage—which, even now in spite of her thoughts of leaving, part of Esme's mind was envisioning enlarging to accommodate all their cars—Gray ran her fingertips over the rim of the empty can of soda.

 _Gray? Are you alright? Don't let it disturb you, darling. If it's decided we must leave, then so be it—we'll leave. It will be a disappointment, yes. But it's nothing to distress yourself over._ Esme's unspoken words pulled Gray from her thoughts, and she looked up. Esme was already out of the car and standing next to the open door.

"I'm fine. I'll be right there. I just . . . I'll just be a minute." Exiting the car, Gray left the garage by the door to the backyard and leapt the three stories to the balcony off her room at the back of the house with the ease with which a human would skip a step while running up a flight of stairs.

Opening the door to her room, she looked around the space feeling dazed and bewildered. This was the same room she'd occupied when they'd last lived in the home over seventy years ago, but she felt as if she'd never seen the room before. Everything felt different—the house, her family, everything. _She_ felt different. She felt as if gravity itself had suddenly changed, released its pull on her, and she was at risk of simply floating away if she didn't find something to hold onto.

 _Darlin'?_

Jasper. It was no use telling Jasper she was fine—he'd know better. Gray didn't know what she was, but she knew she wasn't fine. One thing she did know, however, was how to put on a show, to fake being normal. "Coming," she called out, her voice calm and steady, betraying none of the turmoil growing inside her.

The empty can was still in her hand, and she looked down at it. Crossing her room, she set it on a shelf opposite the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking their back yard and the woods beyond. She could hear the Sol Duc River in the distance. March had been wetter than normal—in one of the rainiest places in the lower 48—and the river was swollen and raging as a result. While the climate in the Olympic Peninsula was ideal for her, she wondered what the boy with the silent mind thought about living in such an almost perpetually overcast region.

For the past decade she'd been plagued by a nagging boredom. Things that had previously occupied her mind, entertained or interested her, had lost their appeal. Her music and her art . . . It had been years since she had composed anything, longer since she'd painted anything. She'd had no interest in taking up another field of study, earning another degree; she'd merely gone through the motions. She'd lost interest in everything—everything outside her family, at least. But now everything had changed. Now she found herself wondering whether a simple human boy liked the rain and what he liked to eat and drink. It wasn't even purely idle curiosity—she genuinely wanted to know. It mattered.

Taking a step back, she studied the empty can sitting beside the diamond-encrusted hair comb her human father had given her for her seventeenth birthday, and she shivered. Although she'd never worn that comb in her hair, she knew she would never part with it. In her mind, it had come to represent the end of the world as she'd once known it, the world that had begun to fall apart around her only days after her birthday.

 _No. It began to fall apart two months earlier, in July. We just hadn't known it then._

Pushing thoughts best not dwelt on aside, Gray left her room, pulling the door closed behind her in a protective manner, as if to keep something precious from being seen.

Normally, she pushed her family's thoughts far back in her mind, attempting to respect their privacy as much as possible, but now she focused on them, listening carefully. They had begun to question what was keeping her.

Ever the diplomat, Carlisle was planning how to best approach the new Alpha of the Quileute wolf pack based on his previous dealings with Ephraim Black while taking into consideration the changing times. He was hopeful the meeting would go well and they could stay, but he was not optimistic.

Esme's thoughts were disappointed. She had been so looking forward to returning to the first house she'd designed, updating it, adding on to it for Alice and Jasper. She was already resigned that they would be leaving very shortly and not likely to ever return. Consoling herself, she was contemplating building a replica of the house and considering St. John's, Newfoundland, as a possible location.

Rosalie and Emmett sat beside each other. While no more concerned with where they lived than she herself typically was, Emmett's nature resisted being driven away. That being said, the safety of his wife was paramount to him. Rosalie's mind was, unsurprisingly, more focused on her amusement over Gray's inability to read the boy's thoughts than what that might mean. The sisters had gotten off to a very bad start—something for which Gray acknowledged she was to blame—but while their relationship had improved over the decades and they had, in time, come to love each other as sisters, they would never have the close friendship Carlisle had once hoped for them to have. They were too fundamentally dissimilar.

Alice was troubled. The third Cullen sister and Jasper's wife and mate, Alice had the gift of precognition, but when it came to the meeting Carlisle was planning with the new Alpha, she was as blind as Gray had been deaf with Edward Swan. She couldn't see anything related to the wolves, and just like Gray's experience with the boy with the silent mind, it had unsettled her badly.

Gray had been unaware of Alice's inability to see the wolves—no wonder Jasper wanted to know if he could sense the boy's emotions before Carlisle confronted the Alpha. If it was not only her gift the wolves could block, but the gifts of two vampires they had never encountered before. . . .

Reflecting the military experience from both the end of his human life and his early life as a vampire, Jasper's thoughts were focused on the advantages the wolves seemed to possess, both in ability and numbers, and the unlikelihood of their being receptive to Carlisle's diplomacy.

While her own resolve to stay strengthened by the second, her family's thoughts were increasingly falling toward leaving.

Unaccountably on edge, Gray joined her family already assembled in the dining room. As usual, Carlisle sat at the head of the table. Her family fell into silence as Gray took the empty seat to his right, feeling every muscle in her body tense as if preparing for an attack. Her hands lay clenched on her lap. Her eyes stared unblinkingly at the deep, rich reddish-brown of the antique mahogany dining table.

 _Gray?_

At the sound of her name in Carlisle's mind, she looked up as if he had spoken her name out loud. She could see herself in six different minds; her body was rigid, her shoulders perfectly straight, her lips pressed into a thin line. That she was in a state of overwhelming anxiety was obvious to everyone, and ranging from Esme's maternal concern to Rosalie's exasperated _What's got her so steamed up?_ her family all wondered at the cause.

Gray's eyes met the matching gold of her creator's, and point-blank, she said, "I'm not leaving."

Like a knife, her abrupt declaration stabbed into a silence that grew under the attack rather than be broken by it.

Taken aback, Carlisle's eyes darted to his wife's before returning to his oldest companion. Misunderstanding, both his and Esme's expressions filled with emotion while their thoughts filled with concern as they remembered one time decades ago when she had left them.

"Of course you're not," Carlisle said, trying and failing to keep his voice light and to keep his mind from recalling the moment she had walked away, believing it to be the right thing to do.

"Darling, of course you're not leaving." Esme tried, just as Carlisle tried, to keep her tone and thoughts from reflecting her memories—memories that were worse in her case because it had been her addition to the family which had been at the root of Gray's decision to leave. She didn't succeed any more than Carlisle had.

As if she'd been struck, Gray flinched. She tried to relax her posture. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded tired. "I meant _here_. I'm not leaving Forks. I'm staying."

"Nothing has been decided—" Carlisle began, but Gray cut him off.

"Not officially, no, but you're all of the same mind. You are all decided, or nearly decided, to leave."

"Perhaps it would be for the best."

Shaking her head, Gray's eyes returned to the table. "I'm not leaving," she repeated.

Esme attempted to reason with her. "The pack originally agreed to the treaty only because they knew they were outnumbered. If they no longer are. . . ."

Esme's voice trailed off as Gray's eyes fell shut, her family's reasoning for leaving receding to the back of her mind as the face of another Charles Swan drifted ghost-like in behind her eyelids.

As she remembered a seventeen-year-old boy recovering from a particularly bad bout of pneumonia—weak, pale, and propped up on the sofa in his family's parlor with an old and faded quilt covering his legs—Gray's hand went to her chest, and although she no longer needed the oxygen, she inhaled deeply. Both times she'd studied medicine over the past nine decades, ailments of the lungs always drew the same reaction from her, the result of the unforgettable need to breath, to inhale air into lungs filling with fluid. While treasured memories were veiled by thick fog or lost completely, her last weeks as a human and the terrible influenza epidemic which had ended that life would stay with her, sharp and clear thanks to Carlisle's perfect memory, as long as she lived.

The first Charlie Swan she'd met had had to drop out of school to work in a sawmill shortly before her family had come to Forks. The pneumonia he'd contracted had swept through the workers at the mill, and Carlisle had treated them all, regardless of the family's ability to pay. A strongly built young man, his illness had left him weakened to the point that a short walk to the corner and back would've left him exhausted.

Confined for the time being to the couch, the young man had mentioned to Carlisle during a house call that he enjoyed reading. The Forks Memorial Library Esme and she had driven past had not existed back then, and after so many years of the Great Depression, there'd been little, if any, money in the Swan home to spend on books. A small pile lent by neighbors stood on a side table next to the couch, but they were all old titles, and Carlisle had asked Gray if she would deliver some newer releases from their collection for the young man to read while he rested after his illness.

On first impression, she'd thought Charlie Swan rather slow-witted—his thoughts had been shallow, limited. However, the pile of books next to him had contradicted that, and she'd reasoned that the lack of depth to his thoughts was likely due to the fatigue resulting from his recent ill health. She'd felt genuine sympathy for the boy. By 1937, jobs were returning and more people were working, but wages were nothing close to what they'd been before the crash, and all too often older children had had to leave school and enter the work force at fifteen or sixteen, if not younger, to help support their family. She'd been certain, judging by how his face had lit up when she'd handed him the books, that the young man in front of her had not left school because he'd wanted to. There'd been food to be bought, and likely a mortgage to be paid, and she'd known that sooner than was advisable, Charlie Swan would be back at work in the sawmill, breathing sawdust into lungs still recovering from pneumonia, rather than sitting in a classroom where he belonged.

She also remembered another Swan—a boy named Geoffrey—Charlie Swan's younger brother.

Charlie Swan had been twenty-one when Pearl Harbor was attacked in 1941, and as had countless others, he had enlisted almost immediately. Her family and she had been in Forks for five years by that time, and they'd known that soon they would have to pick up and leave, move on to the next place, the next identity, and start all over again.

It had been the early days of America's involvement in the Second World War, and patriotism had been running high. In spite of the gray sky and occasional rain shower, virtually the entire town had turned out for the annual Fourth of July picnic. American flags had hung beside every doorway, and the red, white, and blue bunting draped from building to building had fluttered and flapped in the breeze. At the time, Gray had been the only member of the Cullen family to have a gift, and it had fallen to her to keep watch for that one person whose curiosity about the odd family living outside of town turned to suspicion. If just one person's imagination lead them to start questioning things, the family would be gone before that person's imagination started coming up with answers to those questions. With so many of the population gathered together, the picnic had been the ideal opportunity to monitor their thoughts.

Geoffrey Swan had been twelve, and Gray remembered him proudly waving a small American flag as the mayor spoke from behind a podium. Listening to the young boy's mind, she'd caught nothing but the image of his adored older brother, dressed in his uniform and hanging out the window of a train car, waving goodbye.

Gray's mind returned to the present, turning to the current Charles Swan, Chief of the Forks Police Department. She hadn't heard his intention to speak to them, hadn't heard him think about it before he'd done it. She should have, but she hadn't. She'd explained it away— she'd tuned his mind out because he'd been focused on the accident he'd had to respond to.

Just like how in 1937 she'd explained away the lack of depth to another Charlie Swan's thoughts by rationalizing that he'd been too worn out after his illness. Having received medical degrees twice since their first residency in Forks, Gray had been around seriously ill humans numerous times. Their thoughts were often disjointed and dreamlike, but she'd never failed to hear them in full.

 _Geoffrey Swan. At the picnic, there was nothing but the image of his brother in his mind, no thoughts of pride or worries for his brother's safety. There should have been, but there weren't. There was nothing but the picture of his brother in his mind—silent, like a scene in an old movie, before the advent of talkies_. Gray hadn't thought it strange at the time. She'd been too focused on looking for anything that might prove threatening to them. The child hadn't been a threat, and she hadn't paid attention to him.

And now, there was Edward Swan.

 _Four members of the same family, spanning how many generations? Three at least, more likely four? Three whose thoughts I didn't fully hear—though I didn't realize it until now. And now, Edward Swan. Whose thoughts I can't hear at all._

Incredulous topaz eyes opened wide. "No, Carlisle, we've got it all wrong. It's not the wolves. They've got nothing to do with it. It's the Swans can't hear," Gray said, trying to restrain the excitement rapidly growing inside her. "In 1937, pneumonia swept through the sawmill . . ." Gray recounted the story for her family, concluding, "The pack has nothing to do with it. It's the _Swans_. Their thoughts have always been partially concealed, but the possibility never occurred to me. Not until now. Not until that concealment became complete."

"But the boy smells like the dogs. We cannot forget that. And Alice cannot see anything regarding them," Jasper cautioned.

Gray's mind worked furiously.

The stench coming from the boy had been unmistakable. However, the odor had been so revolting, Gray hadn't thought about anything else, hadn't considered the scent itself. Closing her eyes and inhaling the clean, fresh air deeply, she did so now. As horrible as the smell coming from the boy had been, it had not been as strong as she remembered. Of course, it had been mixed with the scent of a dozen other humans along with the lingering fragrance of laundry detergents and assorted soaps, deodorants, and perfumes. There was also the human food being prepared and eaten. And of course, he was only one compared to three.

But, did those considerations explain the difference? Hadn't the scent been weaker than those factors accounted for?

Jasper's response was tactful but direct. "Personal hygiene in the 1930's was not what it is today. That could account for the boy's scent not being as strong as that of the Quileutes you encountered before."

Undeterred, Gray's mind continued along another line. "And maybe the reason Alice can't see the wolves is just that she hasn't encountered them yet. Could you imagine if she were to be bombarded with visions of every sentient being out there? And even humans she has known, she can't see as clearly as vampires. Maybe the wolves are the same thing. Maybe after we've been here a while, she'll begin to see them."

Jasper countered that Alice couldn't see Carlisle's meeting with the wolves, even though he fully planned to contact the current Alpha and inform him they had returned to the area. While Gray's argument had merit for Alice's inability to see the wolves generally, it did not explain her not being able to see something specific regarding Carlisle.

Gray was undaunted; she was determined to convince her family they needed to stay. "Maybe Alice's . . . just not . . . tunedinto them enough to see them. She is a vampire, so she sees other vampires. She was human, so she can see humans, too. The wolves are something entirely different. They are not true Children of the Moon—it was daylight when we encountered them, and they can control their phasing, shifting at will—but they are not normal humans either."

Jasper studied his sister, both her body language and the emotions he could feel rolling off her like waves. No one knew better than he did the deep melancholy Gray had fallen into over the past decade or so, but now her emotions were the polar opposite. It was as if she had been one person before leaving with Esme to make appearances around town and had returned as someone entirely different. She was hyper-alert, engaged, focused, driven. In the over almost sixty years he'd known her, he'd never felt such fierce determination coming from his sister.

 _Why is this so important to you?_

Not knowing the answer herself, Gray ignored the unspoken question.

The rest of the family had remained silent, considering both Gray's and Jasper's points as they debated back and forth, but now Carlisle spoke up. He couldn't understand her attitude, but it had been so long since she had shown an interest in anything, he would do anything he could to encourage that interest. He wanted her to be herself again.

"Nothing needs to be decided at this very moment. I see no reason to make a decision until we know for certain the size of the pack and whether they have developed defenses they did not previously have." He turned to Jasper. "The boy and his father will likely be home shortly. You have their address?"

"Klahndike Boulevard, on the west side of town. The house they reside in borders a densely wooded area. It will be easy to remain concealed in the trees."

As Carlisle nodded his head. "Stick to the treetops. Unless the wolves have also developed the ability to climb trees, you'll be safe there, regardless of their numbers."

Jasper stood.

Gray didn't deliberate, didn't hesitate for a moment. She rose and was at her brother's side as he left the room, drawing questioning thoughts and looks from her family, all of which she ignored. In particular, she ignored Alice's quizzical expression. None of her family could understand her adamant desire to remain in Forks, but no one hated not knowing something more than Alice.

The siblings were a mile from the house when Jasper asked, "Mind if I ask why you're coming with me?"

Gray knew Jasper could feel every emotion coursing through her. There was no point denying the anticipation growing inside her as they neared the small town.

"Not that I mind the company, of course," he added a moment later, before Gray could think of a response. Saving her from having to answer at all, he changed the subject as they leapt across both the river and Highway 101 at a point about two and a half miles north of Forks. "Lovely night for a run," he observed, his voice laced with humor. The rain had let up for the moment, but there would be a storm that night.

The hum of voices in her mind had increased as they'd come closer to the town, and ignoring her brother's attempt at humor, Gray searched the thousands of unfamiliar voices in her head for one of the few she now knew: the girl behind the counter at the restaurant where she'd met Edward Swan. Once she'd heard someone's mental voice, it didn't take Gray long to locate it in her mind, and she had the girl's thoughts singled out before Jasper and she came to a stop in the trees some fifty yards directly behind the Swan house. However, the girl's thoughts were thoroughly unhelpful—she was daydreaming about her perfect prom night.

Allowing her gift to roam away from the girl like slowly probing fingers, Gray searched the minds of the other diners. She got lucky when a woman at another booth watched enviously as Edward and his father ate dessert, wishing she wasn't dieting as she forced herself to settle on the salad bar and ice water.

Edward was eating cheesecake. Just like with the Sprite, Gray wondered if it was a favorite of his, or if it had just been what he'd felt like that night. _What's it like to have so many choices? How do they choose just one thing out of so many options?_ Gray asked herself.

Gray's own nutritional options were rather limited. There was the local wildlife, which was readily available, but . . . not very appetizing. Or there were the carnivores—better, but not convenient or plentiful enough to be hunted regularly. She steadfastly refused to allow her other option to enter her mind.

"They are still at the restaurant."

"Then we wait."

Lightning flashed in the distance, followed moments later by a crash of thunder.

As his sister watched the cream-colored split-level in front of them, Jasper watched her. Gray studied the unremarkable, 70's era home with an unrelenting focus that he had only ever witnessed from her during a hunt.

Her eyes were fixed on the rear wall of the Swan home with the unrelenting concentration of the predator she was. Her breathing was deep and steady, carefully testing the air for any scent of the wolf pack. Her body was poised like one of the great cats she preferred when time allowed for a proper hunting trip. Her face was a perfect mask, betraying nothing of what she thought or felt. Had it not been for his gift, Jasper would have had no suspicion of the excitement rapidly growing inside her. Every second that passed, that excitement doubled.

It came only as a partial surprise when, without warning, she said, "I'm going inside."

Jasper reached out and grabbed her arm before she could jump down from her perch thirty feet off the ground. A low rumble sounded deep in his sister's chest as she pulled her arm, but his grip held firm.

 _The pack will interpret this as an act of aggression—and understandably so._

The excitement he'd felt from her changed to possessiveness in a fraction of second. "The pack will never know."

 _If the boy is a wolf, he will know you were in his home the instant he steps in the door._

"He's not a wolf."

"While his lineage does not show a link to the pack, we cannot overlook the evidence of—"

Shifting her body to face her brother, baring her teeth, and curling her fingers into claws, Gray snarled, low and menacing, "Edward is not one of those mangy flea bags."

Jasper's eyebrows raised in surprise at his sister's reaction. Gray had felt defensive, protective of the boy as she'd said his name. "Edward?"

"The boy."

"I know who you meant. I was just surprised you used his name."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"No reason, just . . . Gray, be careful."

"I always am. I won't leave any sign—"

"That's not what I meant." There was no question in Jasper's mind that Gray had developed an interest in this human. This human boy was the reason for the abrupt change in his sister.

Gray attempted again to pull her arm away. "Jaz, we don't have much time. I—"

 _You're interested in this boy._

Jasper's unspoken observation had been matter-of-fact. His thoughts had held no accusation, no admonishment or reproach, but they'd unnerved his sister as he'd never seen anything do before.

The only outward proof of how badly his thoughts had shaken her was a moment's hesitation during which her jaw moved as if she'd been about to speak but had held her tongue at the last second. If Jasper had needed confirmation of the emotions he felt from his sister, that would've been enough. Gray was many things, but indecisive was not one of them. "Don't be absurd," she said. "He's human."

"Whose thoughts are silent to you."

"I realize that. That is why we're here, isn't it? To see if he's silent to you, too."

"Is it? It's why I'm here, but is it why you're here? I don't want to see you build this boy up to be something he's not and then be disappointed. Just because you can't hear his thoughts doesn't make them any more significant than those of any other teenage human male."

Still refusing to meet his eyes, Gray's posture changed. "I admit I'm . . . curious. Wouldn't you be? If you encountered a family whose emotions grew more concealed from you with every passing generation until ultimately they were fully blocked from you? It's . . . intriguing. But you're wrong if you think it's more than that," she insisted stubbornly.

 _And I'm Ulysses S. Grant_.

Worried that this was a bad idea, he nonetheless relented and released Gray's arm. It was unlikely the boy was a wolf; both his bloodline and behavior seemed to be that of a normal human boy. However, they could not rule out the possibility based on either of those things. His actual bloodline might not be what was shown on paper, and his behavior might have been a carefully acted charade. One way or the other, they needed to know. As to his other concern, if his sister was making a mistake, it was hers to make. "Just be careful, darlin'."

Heedless of Jasper's warning, Gray launched herself across the backyard like a bullet. She scaled the back of the house and in less than a second was perched at Edward's bedroom window, balancing on the window ledge with one hand gripping the eave above her. There were no screens in the window, which was not locked—not even the Chief of Police bothered to lock windows on the upper floor in such a small town.

Gray entered Edward's bedroom cautiously, holding her breath and easily sliding through the two-foot wide gap between the curtains without touching them. Once inside, she inhaled deeply and was almost knocked off her feet by the odor that saturated the room.

In a matter of seconds the revolting stench drifting through the open window reached Jasper where he had remained perched in the trees, and Gray heard him swearing in his colorful Civil war vernacular, ordering her out of the house, but she remained where she was. If Edward was in fact a wolf—a possibility that drove a pain like a red hot spike through her—the damage was already done. As Jasper had said, he would know she had been there the moment he set foot inside the door. Cautiously she took a step into the room. The scent of wolf was strong enough to cause her to gag, but as she had earlier, she questioned whether it was strong enough to prove Edward was one of the wolves. She didn't believe it was.

Inside the room, Gray stood at the foot of the boy's narrow bed. There was a scattering of discarded clothing lying about, and a blanket hung half off the bed. Hanging above the headboard was a three-by-five nylon Seattle Mariners flag, and beside the flag hung a medal. Outside, Jasper continued to swear in ever more inventive expressions. Gray hesitated, but her curiosity about the boy could not be suppressed. Her scent was already in the room, no more harm could be done in that regard. She approached the head of the bed and lightly touched the medal. The design featured Seattle's Space Needle framed in a pale blue ring. The date—June 25, 2011—was written at the top, across the Space Needle's observation deck, and in the center large lettering identified the medal as having been earned at the Dodge Rock 'n Roll Half-Marathon.

Edward had run in a half marathon. Gray grinned with pride at his accomplishment.

Turning her attention from the medal to Edward's bed, she breathed deeply. While heavily camouflaged, the mouthwatering scent of pure human was unmistakable.

"What the devil are you doin' in there all this time!" Jasper hissed to her.

"Keep your britches on, Major," Gray responded with a laugh. "It reeks in here, but there're two distinct scents. Although it's almost completely masked by the wolf's stench, one's unquestionably pure human."

The faint trace of Edward's own scent was more prevalent toward the head of the bed, whereas the smell of wolf was concentrated at the foot . . . as if a dog had slept, curled up at its master's feet. She gave in to the unaccountable urge she felt to trail her fingers along Edward's pillow as she imagined him lying on the bed, his forest green eyes closed in sleep.

A dresser sat against the wall opposite the bed, atop which were a game console and a small television—both a good number of years old. As Jasper had said, a very typical human teenage boy.

Beside the window she'd entered through sat an old, battered desk. On the desk sat six piles of books, quite a few bearing a crossed-out library stamp. Over four dozen books from what she could see, but as smaller piles stood in front of taller ones against the wall, she couldn't be sure of the exact number. In contrast to the disarray of the rest of the room, the books were stacked neatly.

 _Not so plainly typical, after all. Classics—_ The Count of Monte Cristo, 1984, The Three Musketeers, The Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies _. . . Modern best sellers—Stieg Larsson and several James Patterson, Stephen King, and John Grisham, but also Carson McCullers_ , Ticket to Ride _by Dennis Potter and_ Money _by Martin Amis . ._.Very varied in his reading choices.

One book, _Falling Man_ by Don DeLillo, lay on the desk by itself with a torn slip of paper marking a spot only fifty or so pages into the book. Was this what Edward was reading currently? DeLillo had never been to Gray's taste, but she'd be interested in hearing Edward's take on his writing.

Something inside Gray fluttered with excitement at the thought of discussing Edward's favorite books with him. Being human and the product of the era into which he'd been born, he would have a unique outlook on the stories and characters, their experiences and actions, compared to her own. _Maybe I could make recommendations for him that he might like._ Given the number of books with library stamps, Gray decided any book she recommended she would have to make sure the library had available. If they didn't already have it, she'd donate it.

The smile slid from her face as Gray recalled a much smaller pile of books sitting beside a different 17-year-old Swan boy, but she pushed the thought from her mind. Whatever the lives of the two Swan boys she'd met so long ago had turned out to be, they were no concern of hers. She was likely to encounter the descendants of a great number of people she'd known so long ago in the small town, and no good could come out of wondering what had become of the people she'd once lived amongst.

Forcing her attention to return to the present, Gray let her eyes roam around the room once last time. She was convinced Edward wasn't one of the dogs himself, but it seemed he was friends with one, and it was his friend's scent Esme and she had been subjected to earlier and which permeated his bedroom, covering Edward's own so thoroughly she could barely detect it. _They must have been in close proximity not long before I met him for the stench to be that strong, to have masked Edward's own scent so thoroughly._

"Gray, you've been in there long enough."

Gray's mind shot to the woman toying with the unwanted salad in front of her, but she was no longer thinking about Edward. No one in the restaurant was thinking about either Edward or his father, and Gray had no idea if they were still in the restaurant or if they'd already left and were returning home. Edward's father's mind wasn't completely shielded from her as his son's was, but it was enough so that she struggled in vain to locate it among the thousands of others on such brief acquaintance.

Surely they'd not had enough time to eat dessert, pay, and drive home, but Gray could not risk staying in Edward's bedroom any longer. She'd already stayed far longer than she'd intended, longer than she could truly justify, and she knew the scent she left behind would be all the stronger because of it, but as she cast one last look around the small room and slid out through the window, she felt like she was leaving part of herself behind.

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Anal Author Notes:

Coca-Cola was invented in 1886 in Atlanta, Georgia by a pharmacist named John Pemberton and originally sold for five cents a glass. The iconic script used to spell out the name to this day is actually the real handwriting of the inventor's bookkeeper, who named the new product and wrote the name out. In the first year, they sold about nine glasses a day. By 1920 there were about 1,000 bottlers of Coke, and the company had spread to Canada, Panama, Cuba, Puerto Rico, France, and other counties U.S. territories.  .uk

St. John's, Newfoundland, has only 1,497 hours of sunshine a year from what I read online.

Many rural areas in America did not have running water by the 1930's. The First Federal Savings & Loan Association of Port Angeles, Forks Branch, has a "History" segment on their website that says their first home loan was made in 1923. The home had wood heat, no electricity, and no indoor plumbing. An article I found about the founding of the library in Forks states that the population in 1941 was about 550. I think it's very likely that several homes in the area, if not most, did not have running water by the 30's. I didn't find anything for Washington specifically, but several websites talk about people living in rural America not having water by then. People often bathed once a week, in a small galvanized tub in the kitchen, in water heated on the stove and shared by whole family. (Yeah, ew.) You've heard the expression, "Don't throw the baby out with the bath water." That's from then, the youngest would be bathed last.

(BTW, the home loan was for $500 and the monthly payment was $10.82.)

Klahndike Blvd. is a real street on the west side of Forks, and it does border a wooded area. That is the correct spelling.

I changed the Swan home. I found a realtor website that shows you a house for sale and the value/year built etc. of other homes in the neighborhood. This area of Forks looks to be a development built in the 70's, and according to census data, the population of the city nearly doubled in the 70's, so there had to have been a lot of construction. What did they build in the 70's? Split levels. I decided to be more authentic to the neighborhood than canon. There will be more references to the actual neighborhood as the fic progresses.

According to Forks' Wikipedia page the 2010 census shows 9.7% of the population were 65 years of age or older, which would be well over 300 people. This is a part of canon that I always felt needed to be addressed as it would be very possible for someone who had lived in Forks when the Cullens lived there the first time to still be there. According to the , Emmett was changed in 1935, and he was already with the family when they lived in Forks the first time around. I'm having them arrive in 1936 and leave in late 1941 or early 1942, which should be pretty much in line with canon. I'm setting my fic in 2012, which is only 70 years after they left the first time. According to Wikipedia, the average life expectancy in Washington State is 79.9 years. A person in their late 70's or their 80's who'd lived in Forks their whole life could possibly remember them, or at least the vague idea of them which could be jogged by seeing them again. It might just be me being anal, but I think that needs to be addressed as it would be a real threat. All that being said, the population of Forks increased from 1,120 in the 1950 census to 3,060 in 1980, so already by 1980, nearly two thirds of the population of the city had not lived there 30 years earlier. It's very possible that by 2012 anyone 70 or over didn't lived in Forks in the 30's, when the Cullens would have lived there the first time.

Ulysses S. Grant was a Commanding General in the Union army during the American Civil War and became the 18th President of United States in 1869. From Texas, Jasper was a Confederate.


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic! I'm flattered, and I'm thrilled that so many reviewers mentioned _I remain, Yours_ after all this time.

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This story is set in 2012. Not hugely important, but it is relevant here and there. One case is the conversation between Edward and Charlie at the end of this chapter.

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A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

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I was very bad and forgot to post a teaser for this chapter. Sorry about that. Teasers will be posted on Facebook group Pay It Forward (groups/896806390388220/). I also intent to ask the administrator of Fan Fiction Discussion for WIPs group on Facebook, group # is 824471740914375, if I could post teasers there as well. If anyone knows of any other sites where I can post teasers for the next chapter, please let me know.

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I originally listed this as Edward/Bella, but I've changed that to OC. I didn't list that originally because, other than having a different name, I really don't consider Gray to be an OC. Apart from being a girl and the family history I created for her, her history is canon Edward's. But because some reviewers questions that pairing, I thought that changing it would be best.

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 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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 _STEPPING FROM SHADOWS_

 _Chapter Three_

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"Where _is_ he?"

Gray could hear Jasper mentally roll his eyes, even if he resisted doing it for real. She knew she had to be exasperating him—but she couldn't help it. It had been over ten minutes since she'd rejoined her brother in the trees behind the Swan home and almost five minutes since Edward's father returned home.

Alone. By himself. With no sign of his son.

Gray had grown steadily more restless as the minutes passed, and reluctantly, Jasper voiced the thought he'd been trying to hide from her by mentally singing Confederate battle hymns. "Gray, darlin', it's a Friday night, and the boy is a teenager. It's likely he went off to meet up with a g . . . group of his friends."

Gray's spine stiffened. _A group of his friends_ was not what Jasper had planned to say. He'd caught himself verbally just in time, but not mentally. The words she'd heard in his mind, _meet up with a girl_ , echoed heavily through her own.

Drawing a shaky breath, Gray clenched her hand so tightly around the branch over her head, it pulverized in her grasp. The noise it made as it fell forced her attention back to the humans going about their normal evening routines in their homes, but it hadn't been enough to draw their attention through the heavy rain that began to fall exactly four minutes and twenty-six seconds ago, only moments after Edward's father pushed the front door open.

 _Still want to tell me your only interest in this boy is his silent mind—and don't forget who it is you're talking to this time, Missy. 'I'm curious,' she says. 'It's intriguing,' she says._

Gray remained silent, her lips pulled tightly between her teeth—a habit of hers when something disturbed her. Jealousy as strong as a vice had gripped her at the idea of Edward spending the evening with a girl and left her with no choice but to admit to herself that there was more to her interest in Edward Swan than his silent mind. It unsettled her deeply that a human boy she had set eyes on once had somehow come to matter to her. Humans were capricious, not to mention fragile. Allowing herself to care for one was unwise. Perhaps it was better if they did leave Forks right away.

Except she didn't want to leave. Leaving wouldn't stop her from caring for Edward Swan. She'd only think about him all the more, wondering what he was doing, if he was happy or sad, wondering if he ever thought about the strange girl he'd once met one Friday night while he'd had dinner with his father.

There was only one other family of vampires they knew of who shared their unorthodox diet, and among that family were those who routinely . . . enjoyed the company of human men. The Denalis resided permanently in Alaska, and their leader, Tanya, was one of Gray's closest friends. The two had become close when they'd met decades ago—Tanya and her family being nothing short of a Godsend, finding Gray when she'd most needed to be found. Tanya and her sisters often took human men as lovers, and while Gray had no intention of pursuing that level of intimacy with anyone other than the mate she truly believed she would one day find, there was no reason why she could not . . . admire the bouquet, even if she abstained from sampling the wine. Perhaps if they stayed and she gave herself the chance to get to know Edward Swan better, she would tire of him in time. As Jasper had said, just because she couldn't hear his thoughts, didn't make those thoughts any deeper than any other human teenager's. In the meantime, he could be a distraction from the monotony, the unique chance to see things through young eyes once again.

While the track her thoughts had taken had lifted her spirits tremendously, it did nothing but exacerbate the anxiety for Edward's safety that Gray had already felt. After counting to one hundred in eight different languages, Gray whispered through clenched teeth, "Do you have any idea how many humans die in traffic accidents due to inclement weather every year? For all his father knows, Edward could be in a ditch somewhere, slumped over his dashboard, unable to—" But whatever Gray feared Edward might have been unable to do in her nearly panic stricken mind Jasper never found out, for at just that moment the roar of an extraordinarily loud engine could be heard coming nearer. In the time they'd been hidden behind the Swan home, the patrol car driven by the Chief of Police had been the only car to come or go down the road, and the approaching racket held her attention riveted, pulling instantly to her mind the image of a very old and faded red pickup truck she'd noted in the parking lot at the restaurant earlier that evening. The antique pickup was just the type of old jalopy to make that much noise.

The closer the sound came, the more Gray's anticipation grew. Klahndike Boulevard was a dead end, coming to its end at a construction company almost a quarter of a mile past the last house, and at this time of night on a Friday, the chances of the new arrival being headed toward the business were slim.

Soon, the siblings caught glimpses of the pickup responsible for the racket lumbering up the road from between the houses as it passed. At the grin that spread itself across Gray's face, Jasper knew the young man behind the wheel was the boy who'd so completely captivated his sister, and from the wave of emotions he felt pouring of the boy as he drove closer, he knew it was only Gray's gift he could block.

The pickup pulled directly in front of the Swan residence, blocked from her view by the house, and the God-awful racket came to a halt as it parked along the curb. A muffled, metallic clink and the sound of fabric sliding across plastic could be heard, but Edward did not exit the car.

"Goodness, that thing must be as old as I am."

Jasper barked with laughter. _Knocking a few decades off, aren't you? I thought only human women lied about their age. Darlin', if that thing was as old as you, it'd have a crank in front._

Her nerves soothed now that she could see with her own eyes that Edward had arrived home safely, Gray relaxed, and playing with her brother, she mocked great offense. "A crank! Just how old do you think I am? A crank! Really!" While many of her memories of her human life were faded and blurry, Gray knew with absolutely certainty that by the time she was twelve, her father would sooner have been seen walking to and from work than be seen driving a car with a _crank_.

"My apologies."

Turning her back to feign outrage—but also in an attempt to hide her smile—Gray folded her arms in front of herself and continued indignantly. "A _crank_! If that thing was as old as you, it'd have a _horse_ in front."

After several long seconds during which Gray wondered if Edward was possibly waiting to see if the downpour might ease, the door swung open, creaking noisily on its antique hinges. The solid, resounding thud of it slamming shut was something no modern car could ever hope to emulate.

Jasper whistled. "They don't make 'em like that anymore."

"No, they don't. They thought to add seat belts eventually." _And anti-lock brakes. And airbags. And crumple zones._ Gray's mind compiled a list of all the safety features either standard or available on modern cars that Edward's old pickup would certainly not have.

But it did, at least, have a seat belt. Gray had heard the sound of it being released. She wasn't the car expert Rosalie was, but she could recognize a 1953 Chevy when she saw one—there had been no seat belts on that truck when it rolled off the assembly line nearly sixty years ago. She mentally tipped her head to Edward's father in a silent apology for her earlier less than flattering thoughts.

"And cup holders."

Gray laughed. "And cup holders."

Edward was hidden from her view as he ran from his truck to the front door, but she could hear every one of his footsteps slap against the wet sidewalk, the splash when he stepped in a puddle. She could also hear the muffled rustle of paper against fabric. He'd been wearing a hoodie with a t-shirt beneath at the diner—standard wardrobe for a human teenage male in this day and age—and it sounded very much like he had a paperback in the pocket, protecting it from the rain. The image of neat stacks of books contradicting the general disorder of Edward's bedroom brought a smile to Gray's face as she pushed her dripping wet hair behind her ears. She was as comfortable perched high in a tree during a rain storm as she would be stretched out on the sofa she'd chosen for her room, but her wet hair hanging in her face was a nuisance. She envied girls with short hair.

Inside the Swan home, a refrigerator door closed, and the tell-tale metallic _tsssst_ indicated that Chief Swan had diverted from coffee now that he was in his own home for the night. A can of beer sounded nothing like a can of soda being opened; the sound was very distinct.

Edward pushed the front door shut behind him, and Gray could hear the deadbolt slide into place seconds later. As his footsteps sounded up six stairs to the main floor of the home—hardwood, she knew by the sound—Chief Swan called to his son, "Feel like a game?" by way of greeting.

"Yeah, sure. Lemme just . . ." Edward's sentence remained unfinished. It was apparently clear to his father what he was referring to, as the sound of his footsteps moved through the house—carpeted floor this time, softer footsteps—without further comment from father or son.

A door closed, and the light in Edward's bedroom flicked on. Through the gap between the curtains, Gray caught a glimpse of him crossing the room. She could hear the sounds he made—removing the book from his pocket and setting it down, fabric rustling as he pulled his dampened sweatshirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. The springs in his mattress groaned as he collapsed onto his bed, sighing. Two thuds could be heard moments apart—sneakers hitting the floor.

Jasper spoke, but Gray's mind was too filled with the image of Edward lying on the bed she'd so recently stood beside—his head resting on his pillow, just how she'd imagined—to take heed of her brother's words. _Are his eyes closed?_ she wondered. Stretching out along the bough on which she'd been perched, she lay down on her stomach. _What's he thinking about?_ Maintaining their balance was second nature for her kind; there was no chance she could fall as Gray lowered her head to her folded arms, her gaze firmly fixed on the column of light between the two navy blue curtains framing Edward Swan's bedroom window. _Is he thinking about me?_

"So, since you haven't listened to them in so long, Alice said Emmett's planning on replacing all your old jazz albums with Nancy Sinatra and that Tiffany girl from the 80s."

"Mhmm," Gray responded, distracted.

"Says since they're black, he's going to use your albums—all your prized, vintage jazz albums—for a night game of extreme, ultimate Frisbee."

"Mhmm."

"GRAY!"

Faster than a human could blink their eyes, Gray was on her feet, crouched low and ready to pounce, eyes narrowed and scanning the surrounding trees for any sign of danger. "What is it? Is it the dogs? Do you sense the dogs? I don't hear them—"

Leaning against the trunk of the tree in which they were hidden, Jasper folded his arms in front of himself and grinned at her, Confederate battle songs once again shielding his thoughts from her. "I got what I came for. I can feel what the boy is feeling just like anybody else. We should be getting back to the house to let the others know."  
"Oh," Gray said, looking back toward the Swan residence. "Jazz, have you ever encountered anyone whose emotions you couldn't feel?"

"No. Never."

She breathed deeply. "Why can't I hear him? What's he thinking about?" The questions were asked more to herself than to her brother. Turning to Jasper once again, she asked, her voice hesitant and lowering with every word she spoke until the driving rain threatened to drown them out, "What's he feeling? Is he afraid? Is he afraid . . . of me?"

Jasper paused before answering, making Gray fear the worst. He was deliberately blocking his thoughts from her and didn't want to answer her question. Both siblings turned toward the house. "He's concerned about something, but it's secondary. Mostly he's . . . hopeful."

"Really?" A wide grin spread across Gray's face as she returned her gaze to the bright gap between the two curtains. _Hopeful_ was not a feeling typically attributed to humans so soon after an encounter with a vampire. Normally, a human would feel apprehension upon meeting her kind as a subconscious self-preservation instinct kicked in, spiking through them and warning them of danger, but a kind of thrall would mesmerize them, overpowering that survival instinct. Humans liked beautiful things, were susceptible to them, and the superficial physical beauty of her kind would captivate them, keep them from turning and bolting from the presence of the natural predator they had no idea they had. If the human lived to think back on the meeting, the sense of having been in danger increased in the absence of the distracting influence of their beauty. Anything from a general sense of unease to outright fear were normal; _hopeful_ was not. But from what little of his thoughts Jasper was permitting her to hear, Gray could see for herself that that was exactly what Edward felt.

He had met her, sat not six feet from her for several minutes not even an hour ago, and the strongest emotion he felt was _hope_.

"Are you coming?" Jasper asked her, wanting to get back to the house to tell Carlisle he could feel the boy's emotions the same as he could anyone else's.

"No, I . . . I think I'll stay a while longer. Maybe if I'm near him longer, I'll begin to hear something." Even as the words left her mouth she knew it was a feeble excuse at best. Her struggle had always been keeping the onslaught of the thousands of minds surrounding her out, not on hearing thoughts that were silent to her. As a better justification, she offered, "And I want to see what I can hear from the father. Edward is not one of the dogs, but one has been in the house, frequently judging by the strength of the stench. I could scarcely discern Edward's own scent beneath it; it was masked almost completely. His father's thoughts are veiled, but they are there. I might be able to learn something from him. And I should see what I can learn from the rest of them," she continued, her glance moving from house to house. "We can't discount the possibility that the pack has spread to Forks just because Edward is not one of them. We've all been seen around Forks now. If the pack has spread to the town, they'll know of our presence by now. They'll have encountered our scents. Their thoughts will not be hard to find—I'm sure they'll be shouted at me. Any foreknowledge I can gain will be of use to Carlisle before he contacts the current Alpha."

As the lookout for her family, everything Gray had just said was perfectly true—even if it had only occurred to her as she searched for a justifiable reason to stay near Edward.

She knew there was no fooling Jasper. Nevertheless, he accepted her pretext without question and left her alone to watch over the little cream-colored house with one last warning to be careful.

After Jasper had gone, Gray settled down, stretching out once more on her stomach along the long bough. The driving rain continuing to pour down on her was barely noticed other than the annoyance of having to continually push her hair from her eyes. She quickly braided it, hoping to keep it out of her face and wishing, not for the first time, that the bob had come into style just a few years earlier. On the lower floor of the home, she could hear billiard balls clacking against each other as Edward's father racked them. It had been pool he had been referring to when he'd asked Edward if he felt like a game.

The mattress springs creaked once more as Edward rose to his feet. His footsteps across his carpeted floor could be heard, and a moment later the curtains swayed as they were spread further apart and Edward himself appeared between them. Gray inhaled deeply and lowered her head to her folded arms, watching him as he peered out into the dark night, a smile spreading across his lips.

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The weatherman had called for a storm tonight, and a storm was what they were getting. _Hopefully, they'll be right about the forecast for sun tomorrow afternoon, too_ , Edward thought to himself as he watched the rain pound against his window. He thought of Gray, glad she'd have had time to make it home before the storm hit; he didn't like to think of her stuck out in this weather. Talk around school was that the new family in town had bought some old dilapidated fixer-upper, deep in the woods off the one-oh-one a few miles north of town that no one had even known was there. It would be a dark drive home on a night like this.

Gray Cullen had not left his thoughts for more than a few moments since he'd first laid eyes on her. Her tired eyes crinkling at the corners with repressed laughter filled his mind, and he smiled. He wanted to see those eyes crinkle with laughter again, and he wanted to be the one to make it happen.

Downstairs, his father would be waiting for him by the pool table, he knew. What had his father been thinking, stopping Gray's mother and welcoming them to Forks like that? It had been very out of character. And who'd believe the woman was her mother? She looked barely ten years older than Gray. He couldn't believe the woman was even thirty, forget about the mother of a seventeen-year-old.

Outside, thunder boomed, and the wind picked up.

Edward left his window and picked a pair of flannel pajama bottoms up from the floor, unbuttoning his jeans as he crossed his room to his bed. Like his hoodie and sneakers, his jeans were damp from his run from his truck to the house. Pulling the jeans off as he sat down, he changed before heading downstairs to what his friends jealously called "the Swan Man Cave."

His father was right where Edward expected him to be—standing beside the pool table, chalking his cue, a can of Vitamin R within reach. Distracted, his father's eyes were staring blankly ahead. Edward was reminded of the expression on his father's face as he'd crossed the parking lot after arriving late for dinner, the tired, worn out look in his eyes as he'd taken his seat, and he stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching his father absentmindedly chalk his cue, never noticing Edward was there.

Approaching his father and taking his own cue from the rack on the wall, Edward asked, "Think we have a chance for the pennant this year? We are tied for first."

Pulled from his thoughts, his father looked over at him as he set the chalk down. Picking up his beer, he responded, "We're one of only two teams who've played."

"Like I said, tied for first. Now we've just got to hold that for another hundred and sixty games." One of Edward's goals in life was to see the Mariners win the World Series.

After blowing the excess chalk from his cue, his father picked up a coin and said, "Call it to break," without commenting on the Mariners, further evidence—if further evidence was needed—of just how preoccupied his mind was on work.

Edward called heads. It came up tails.

Edward watched his father quietly as he prepared to break, his eyes flicking intently between the white cue ball and the purple four ball in the head position. Twice, he drew his arm a few inches back and moved it forward slowly as he lined his shot up in his mind, but as distracted as he was, he broke badly, hitting the cue ball off center. It ricocheted around the table before falling helplessly into a side pocket. His father dropped his head and rubbed his eyes.

Without a word, Edward retrieved the cue ball and chose a spot on the table. Three balls had been pocketed on the break—two solids and a stripe. Edward chose solids. "Two ball in the side pocket," he called, glancing at his father. With as much attention as his father was paying to the game, Edward suspected he could've said, "Bigfoot in the back yard," and his father wouldn't have noticed.

After he made his shot, his father spoke without looking at him. "There was an accident on the one-oh-one."

Edward set his cue stick down. "Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I figured there was something. How bad was it?"

"Dead at the scene."

Edward's stomach clenched. In a city the size of Forks, everyone knew everyone else. "Local?" he asked.

"Greg Varner."

Edward sucked in a breath. "Mr. Varner?" he gasped. "God, what happened?"

"On that damned motorcycle without a helmet again."

"God . . . He was just . . . I just saw him in class this morning." Greg Varner was a teacher at Forks High School—Edward's least favorite teacher, teaching trig, his least favorite class. "He's got two boys. . . ."

His father nodded. "Six and nine." He exhaled slowly, drawing his hand over his face. "Stopped him three times for riding without a helmet, but we let him off with a warning each time, never ticketed him. Insurance is expensive enough without a couple tickets for being a damned idiot."

Bowing his head and thinking of two little boys without a father, Edward asked, "What happened?"

"'Bout halfway between here and Port Angeles, tried to pass an 18-wheeler. There was an oncoming car. Guy in the car says Varner pulled right out in front of him. The guy slammed on the brakes, and Varner swerved and ended up off the road. Went over his handlebars, head first into a tree."

 _Head first into a tree_ . . . Edward winced. He asked himself whether a helmet would've made any difference, but knowing his father's opinion on motorcycles in general—and riding without a helmet in particular—he kept his question to himself.

A wave of guilt gnawed at Edward as he pictured a motorcycle-shaped pile of parts at Jake's place with his name on it. He pushed it aside. Varner had pulled out into the other lane without making sure there was no oncoming traffic, and he'd ridden without a helmet. Edward would be more careful than Mr. Varner had been, and he'd always wear a helmet. And besides, he thought to himself, he still wasn't sure Jake would ever even get the bikes running.

"You gonna make another shot or what?" his father asked, nodding his head at the table.

Edward walked around the table. "Seven in the corner," he called as he leaned over the table and lined up the shot. He sank it easily. His next shot was tougher, not a good angle, but it was the best one he had available. The six ball rolled slowly toward the pocket, coming to a rest an inch from dropping in.

It was his father's turn, and neither of them spoke as he sank the next two shots. Picking his beer up, his father said, "Guy in the car's pretty shook up."

Hardly surprising. "It wasn't his fault," Edward said as he fidgeted, uncomfortable. He rubbed the back of his neck. It felt cold, callous—a man was dead, and while he hadn't liked the man, he'd had a family who would be grieving him—but Edward couldn't help but worry how Mr. Varner's death affected him.

The truth was that while Edward was a very good student otherwise, he was at real risk of failing trig. He just had no head for numbers and was helpless at any kind of advanced math. He tried, but he just couldn't get it. He'd gotten through algebra one and two and geometry with low C's, but trig . . . He could fail. And if he failed, he'd have to take it again next year. If he could just pass trig this year, he'd have all the math credits he needed to graduate without having to take a math in his senior year.

Mr. Varner had been a terrible teacher, the sort of teacher who expected his students to come into his class already knowing what he was expected to teach them, and he'd had little patience for having to explain a principle more than once. But he had known his stuff. He'd just been crap at trying to teach it. How much worse would Edward fare with a sub who wouldn't know the subject as well as Varner had? Forks was a city of less than thirty-seven hundred people. It wasn't as if they'd have a waiting list of high school math teachers lined up. How long would it take them to replace Mr. Varner with a real math teacher?

"News crew got to the scene too late for the six o'clock news, but it'll be the main story at eleven," his father said with a sigh.

Edward was sure it would be.

Had it been his father who'd had to break the news to the widow? Or had the doctor done it? How does someone tell a person that kind of news?

His father called his next shot, but Edward barely heard him. It was the sharp clack of the balls that startled him out of his own thoughts. He looked up in time to see the orange and white thirteen ball miss the corner pocket.

"Damn," his father muttered, picking up his beer.

Was his father thinking about his mother, Edward wondered?

Edward's mother had been killed in an accident on the one-oh-one on her way home from Seattle, and his father had never gotten over her, Edward knew. Edward had been only three and a half. He didn't really remember her, and his father never talked about her. He'd answer questions if Edward asked them, but he never brought her up on his own. The one memory Edward did have he suspected was more his imagination, a picture his mind had dreamed up rather than an actual memory. He didn't even remember being told she was dead. Had his father told him? Someone else?

Edward walked around the table. He still had three balls in play to his father's four. He sank one and but missed the next.

Thinking about his own mother brought Gray Cullen and her mother back to Edward's thoughts. His own mother had only been nineteen when he was born. Had she lived, she'd have been thirty-six now. Could the woman he'd met earlier be that old?

"School board will have trouble finding a replacement," his father commented after sinking the twelve ball in the side pocket.

"Yeah. Yeah, I was thinking that same thing," Edward said as he grabbed himself a Sprite from the mini-fridge they kept downstairs, his mind filled much more with Gray Cullen than on the problem of a new math teacher. His mind had started to wander to what classes he might share with her. There was an odd number of students in his bio class, and he and two others had to work as a team of three for labs. If Gray was in his class, maybe he could ask her to be his partner.

The cue ball was in a bad position to make the remaining shots his father had, and he took a few minutes to study the table, trying to find the best angle—or at least, the least bad angle. "Fifteen in the corner," he called. His mind clearly not on the game, his shot wasn't even close.

Edward had missed the three ball on his last shot, but it had come to rest only inches from the pocket, and after his father's missed shot, the cue ball was in a good position to sink it. After this shot, the only ball Edward would still have in play would be the green six, which was also only inches away from the pocket he'd missed earlier. He easily sank both, following up by pocketing the eight ball and taking the first game in the best-of-nine that he and his father usually played.

Edward retrieved the balls from the pockets and glanced over his shoulder at his father as he wrote the score on a chalkboard mounted on the wall. Turning toward the table and hoping his voice sounded cooler and more casual than he felt, he asked, "What was up at dinner? Why'd you stop Mrs. Cullen like that?" The question had been on his mind all night, and just asking it, just saying Gray's last name, Edward felt goosebumps run up his spine and butterflies in his stomach.

His father took a drink from his beer and picked up his chalk. With his eyes on his cue stick, he answered, "Four teenagers. Two are adopted. Two are a niece and nephew of Mrs. Cullen's she and her husband have guardianship of."

Gray was adopted—Mrs. Cullen had introduced her as her daughter, not her niece. That certainly explained why Mrs. Cullen had seemed too young to be her mother. Edward felt a surge of protectiveness sweep through him as Gray's tired eyes filled his mind. How had she come to be adopted? Had her birth parents died? Had she been removed from their care? What had she been through?

Edward broke to start the game, and he and his father played in silence for several minutes. Edward's mind was more on Gray than their game, and after his father missed his shot he asked, "What does it matter that their kids are adopted?"

"The doctor and his wife are very young. They wouldn't be the first idealistic young couple to want to do something good and bite off too much. Four teenagers from who-knows-what backgrounds. . . ."

Edward made his shot, but he felt unsettled, on edge, defensive. "You think there could be trouble?"

"Dr. Cullen seems like a good man. Sensible. He was at the hospital when Greg was brought in. Came in to see the place and meet people before his first shift." His father changed the subject. "So, what do you have planned for your week off?"

His mind still on Gray, Edward shrugged. "Not much. Meeting some of the guys at Lake Pleasant tomorrow. Jake's going, but he's got some stuff to do at the library first."

"Jacob—at the library. On a Saturday?"

Edward laughed. "It's the end of the world. Yeah, I know."

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I hope you liked chapter 3! Drop me a line and let me know what you thought!

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Author's notes:

The first self-starting ignition was installed in a Cadillac in 1911 and eliminated the need for hand cranking of the engine.

The car that was loaded onto the Titanic, a 1912 Renault Coupe DeVille, had an electric self-starter.

Gray would've been twelve in 1913. I want to demonstrate the wealth of her human family, which will be explained more fully later. Her parents were very liberal and progressively minded for the time period—in favor of women's suffrage and the legalization of birth control—but only because those were issues which affected them directly. They were more forward thinking than most of their era, but they were definitely of their era and social circle. Her reflection about her father is very real. Imagine a real tech nerd being seen with last year's phone or tablet or whatever. Oh, the horror!

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In the United States, seat belt legislation was passed in the mid 60s. Some cars did offer them sooner, but not as early as 1953 from what I could find. Washington State law does not require cars that were manufactured without seat belts to be retrofitted with them, although the state police do *strongly recommend* it. I can't imagine Charlie allowing Edward to drive a car with no seat belts, so the truck was retrofitted.

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I made the Swan home a split-level. I found a realtor website that shows you a house for sale and the value/year built etc. of other homes in the neighborhood. This area of Forks looks to be a development built in the 70s. What did they build in the 70s? Split levels. I decided to be more authentic to the neighborhood than canon. The home will reflect a bachelor and his teenage son as much as possible.

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The Mariners are one of only two teams in the MLB to have never played in the World Series. The other is the Washington Nationals.

In 2012, the Mariners and the A's opened the season in Tokyo on March 28th and 29th and returned for more Spring training games before meeting again in Oakland for the A's home opener on Friday, April 6th. That's why Charlie said they were the only two teams to have played so far. There are 162 games in the regular season. The M's and A's split the two they played in Tokyo. The A's did hold on for the next 160 games and won the division. The M's finished last. Again. (I'm a Phillies fan myself, so Seattle, I feel your pain.)

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Washington State requires all motorcycle riders to wear a helmet by law.

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	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

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This story is set in 2012. Not hugely important, but it is relevant here and there.

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A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

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I originally listed this as Edward/Bella, but I've changed that to OC. I didn't list that originally because, other than having a different name, I really don't consider Gray to be an OC. Apart from being a girl and the family history I created for her, her history is canon Edward's. But because some reviewers questions that pairing, I thought that changing it would be best.

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 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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 _STEPPING FROM SHADOWS_

 _Chapter 4_

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The forest around her was thick and green and alive. A light breeze rustled the newly sprouting leaves, the sound like music, the budding leaves swaying as if in dance.

Gray stood still, feeling the same breeze that made the leaves dance on their branches blow through her hair. The world around her was such a wondrous, miraculous place. How had she ever grown bored with it? How had she stopped being amazed by it?

Miles deep in the forest, she was far enough from the highway that no passing motorists' minds invaded her own, and any hiking trails that might pass through the woods around her were either empty or too far away themselves. Emmett and Rosalie had arrived from Seattle, where they were living on their own, and reunited again, the rest of her family had all gone out on a quick hunt together. She'd preferred to wander around on her own. Her family would be returning by now, and she would have to meet up with them before too long—Carlisle had contacted the current Alpha of the Quileute wolf pack and arranged to meet that afternoon—but for right now, blissfully, the only thoughts in her head were her own.

Directly overhead, the sun shone brightly in a spring sky the color of forget-me-nots, its light, though dappled, reaching the ground much more than it would in a month or two when the leaves that were only just emerging would create a nearly impenetrable canopy of green.

Gray felt very like the trees around her—as if she'd been dormant through a long winter, but now, at long last, the spring had arrived. It had been over nine decades since she'd slept, but she felt as if she were waking up. Not just waking up, but coming back to life.

It felt wonderful.

To her left she could see a brightness through the trees, and she turned her footsteps in that direction, snagging a thin branch from a dead tree as she passed and swinging it through the air twice, listening to the whistling sound it made, before dropping it to the ground.

Walking at a lazy pace, she reached a clearing in the woods—a large glade, smaller than the one in which Esme had had their home built seventy-six years ago, but still quite large. She stood just inside the trees, mesmerized as the sun shone down on the countless early wildflowers just emerging after winter.

It was Saturday. One week from Monday school would resume at Forks High School, and Alice, Jasper, and she would be its newest students, members of the junior class. Normally, the three of them would start younger, as freshmen or sophomores, with Rosalie and Emmett entering the year above, but this time she'd been unable to bear the thought of two more years of the purgatory of high school, and the three of them were starting as seventeen-year-old juniors, while Rosalie and Emmett were living together as a couple and attending the University of Washington. She was incredibly grateful for the cover stories they'd come up with for this visit, as it meant she was presenting herself as the same age as Edward.

A small number of the wildflowers covering the ground were already in full flower and had turned their heads towards the sun on this bright midday. Thinking of seeing Edward again once school began in a week, and feeling very like Gwyneth Paltrow as Emma Woodhouse, Gray settled herself on the ground and plucked a white daisy-like flower, pulling the petals off one at a time.

 _He'll run away screaming._

 _He won't run away screaming._

 _He'll run away screaming._

 _He won't run away screaming._

 _He'll run away screaming_. . . .

Gray dropped the stem and chose another flower. She ended up with the same answer.

A third flower produced no better results.

Brushing stems and petals from her lap, Gray decided that Gwyneth's Emma was right; daisies really were a drab little flower.

Discouraged, but like a gambling addict who couldn't resist just one more roll of the dice, she plucked a fourth flower. Happily, the fourth time was the charm.

Gwyneth's Emma didn't know what she was talking about. Daisies were a charming little flower.

Lying down in the grass, Gray closed her eyes, letting the warmth of the sun seep into her skin.

What was Edward doing on this sunny Saturday? Was he thinking about her?

Her solitude was interrupted all too soon by hikers as their trail wound too close to her secret garden, their thoughts suddenly assailing her. She sighed in irritation and threw an arm across her face, as if by covering her head she could block the unwanted thoughts from her mind.

 _You not alone, when you are still alone,_

 _Oh, God! From you that I could private be_ _!_

All she could do was hope the trail would wind away from her hidden meadow, and the mental voices would fall silent again, leaving her in her all too temporary peace and quiet.

She sighed again. It didn't appear as if she'd get her wish as the voices continued.

She couldn't even get up and leave, move farther into the forest, away from the unwelcome intrusion on her privacy, as she had identified the hikers by their thoughts as being none other than the current Alpha of the Quileute wolf pack and his mate. Gray knew her duty to her family. Carlisle would be meeting with this man in a few hours' time, and she'd been unable to learn anything useful last night. Now, however, as the couple walked together, the sudden return of her family filled their thoughts. Their minds were filled with everything from the treaty made with her family by their ancestors to the size of the current pack (five, including the Alpha) versus the size of her family (five, the same as it had been in 1936, so far as they knew, as Rosalie and Emmett had only just arrived from Seattle overnight) to what boys would be most likely to join the pack during her family's residence in Forks and how soon.

Gray lay silent and still in the grass, secretly listening and learning, absorbing every thought as the couple's path kept them within her hearing until two new voices entered her mind. In a fraction of a second, she was on the defensive, springing to her feet, crouched and ready to attack. Her teeth were bared, her fingers curled like claws, every one of her senses tuned to the new intruders. The two new voices overrode all else. The conversation of the Alpha and his mate was forgotten. She'd only heard the new voices once before and had never met the owners face-to-face, but she recognized and identified them immediately.

The newcomers were vampires, but not vampires like her family. These vampires fed from humans, and they were tracking the Quileute Alpha and his mate.

The treaty between her family and the Quileute never entered her mind. There was nothing in it that obligated either side to render aid to the other in any way, and any theoretical moral dilemma she might have faced under other circumstances as to what she should do never occurred to her. Circumstances were what they were.

There were two human-feeding vampires near Forks.

Near Edward.

Gray burst forward, running towards the threat.

Though she'd never met the two intruders before, she knew them all too well by reputation—James and Victoria, former coven mates of a new member of the Denali clan. From what she had seen in their minds the one time she had encountered them several decades ago, what she had subsequently learned from her Denali cousin decades later, and the thoughts she heard now, she knew they were exceptionally sadistic.

And they were near Edward.

James was a hunter, a tracker. He thrilled at the chase. He lived for it. Hunting was a game to him, his obsession, his drug. His prey was his prize, and he was as relentless in hunting it as he was merciless once it had been caught. She could see flashes in his mind, glimpses of the pair he was stalking. His thoughts vacillated between the Alpha—the man who looked human but who was clearly, by his overpowering, musky scent, something else—and the warm, rich blood flowing in the woman's veins.

It was clear from the thoughts of the Alpha that he had no idea what was following him. In his human form, his senses were stronger than those of a normal human, but they were only a fraction of what they would be in his wolf form. He couldn't hear the two following him, and any possibility that he might be able to detect their scents was hampered by the breeze that blew in the wrong direction.

Great speed was characteristic of her kind, but her family had yet to meet another vampire as fast as Gray. She outpaced every other vampire her family knew, both male and female, taller and stronger. As she raced through the woods, dodging branches and leaping over obstacles on the ground, every lesson on fighting Jasper had ever given her flooded her mind.

Both James and Victoria became aware of her approach. Prior to hearing her running toward them, they had been trailing slowly behind the couple they were hunting. James loved drawing out the depraved games he played with his victims, and Gray saw in his mind that part of the fun of this particular game was to see how close they could get before their presence was detected. Now, though, with the unexpected addition of a competitor, the game had changed abruptly. Gray had made it his best game ever.

In his excitement, James' thoughts grew in volume until his mind essentially screamed at her. Victoria's mind, though, quieted. Gray knew from Laurent that Victoria had a strong gift of self-preservation, and that gift told her the rapidly approaching unknown vampire was not just one more toy to be played with before being destroyed, but a genuine threat. Whereas James' mind was filled with the thrill of the hunt, Victoria's was quickly filling with the need to escape.

She warned him they should leave, but James ignored her, and acting against her instincts, Victoria reluctantly followed. The Quileute Alpha became aware of the pair closing in, and he tensed, trembling with fury where he stood.

His mate was confused by the sudden and complete change in his demeanor, but she attributed it to anger over Gray's family's presence. The woman stepped toward him and reached her hand toward his shoulder at just the wrong moment, about to say his name, wanting to calm him.

Gray had never witnessed one of the Quileute shift from one form to another. It was like an explosion, violent and uncontainable. In his mate's thoughts, she could see the man's body leaping from the ground. It twisted in the air in a horrible fashion, growing in size, his torso elongating, limbs contorting from human to wolf.

Gray had an academic's mind. She had once thrived on the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge's sake. Under other circumstances, it would've been fascinating to her to observe the transformation, to hear the thoughts of the man as he underwent the change, but once again, circumstances were what they were.

The man's mate had been standing too close to him when he phased, and as his hands became the paws of a massive wolf, long, sharp nails caught the side of the woman's face and sliced their way down her arm, all the way to her hand, tearing through skin, mangling muscle and flesh. Unlike true Children of the Moon, the Quileute wolves fully retained their human consciousness and cognitive abilities in their wolf form, and Gray could hear both the man's horror and helplessness as his body, beyond his control during the change, continued to morph into that of an enormous wolf, badly injuring the one he loved most in the world in the process.

The woman collapsed to the ground, her shock temporarily delaying the onslaught of pain from her injuries. Her blood flowed freely, its intoxicating scent perfuming the air and being carried directly to James and Victoria on the breeze.

Gray swore out loud, words she'd never uttered before hissing from between clenched teeth. She pushed herself harder, forcing herself to run faster. She knew it would only be a matter of seconds at the most until the scent of the woman's blood reached the other two, adding the frenzy of their bloodlust to the matter, a complication she did not need.

"Sam. . . ."

So close now, Gray heard the woman whisper the man's name, both verbally and in her mind. She could hear the man's frantic thoughts, his desperate guilt. She could hear the woman's feeble attempts to assure the man she loved she would be all right, that it had been an accident, not his fault, as she berated herself for moving closer to him, knowing the signs indicating he was about to phase.

Gray heard two of the pack in the mind of the Alpha. In their wolf form, the pack shared a strong telepathic bond, everyone's thoughts heard by everyone else. The two immediately raced toward their Alpha. The minds of the remaining two wolves joined them only moments later. The wolves could run as fast as most vampires, but the closest was in the woods just north of Forks seven or eight miles away; the other three were in La Push, nearly twenty miles away.

Gray knew the Alpha heard her racing toward them from a different direction. She knew the moment he identified her by her scent as being one of the vampires with whom their forefathers had made the treaty, but in that moment, he didn't consider the seventy-year-old treaty any more than Gray had upon hearing James and Victoria so close to Edward. She was a vampire, and the scent of his mate's blood was in the air. He considered her as much of a threat as the other two—another potential complication she did not need.

She could hear the excitement in James' mind increase exponentially. He knew everything there was to know about hunting every animal known to man, but the Quileute wolves were unknown to man. No other creatures like them existed anywhere in the world, as far as anyone knew. The memory of fighting and killing a true werewolf passed through James' mind. The creature had been more upright than the Quileute wolves, almost ape-like, with stronger forelegs than hind, and its hands had remained human-like, able to grasp and tear. It had been alone, but even alone it had given James the best fight of his life before being bested and destroyed.

With his immense knowledge of animals, James built a mental profile of the creature he hunted. Its scent resembled that of a true werewolf, but James could hear the four enormous, padded paws of the wolf—a creature far more canine than the true werewolf. By the sound the paws made and the timing of its steps, James created a startlingly accurate idea of the size of the wolves Gray remembered. But in summing up his prey, James made one critical error. In this one particular, his vast experience with animal prey worked against him. He believed the creature would behave as an animal, as the werewolf he'd tracked and killed had—feral, driven solely by instinct. He could not know the creature awaiting him would have the strength of the werewolf combined with not just the cunning of a human, but the collective experience of numerous generations in fighting vampires. He believed this would be his best game ever—an animal he'd never encountered before, a rival vampire as competition, and a human prize to be claimed after he defeated his opponents. He'd never enjoyed anything more.

Gray had been farther away from the Quileute Alpha and his mate than James and Victoria had been, but with her speed, she had closed the gap. She was now close enough to see glimpses of the enormous wolf through the trees. Even larger than those she remembered, the creature was easily as tall as a horse, but bulkier, and pure black.

She could see James now as well, streaking up the trail. Physically, James was average, neither particularly tall nor particularly strongly built. His advantage would lie in his prodigious skill.

After decades of training from her military brother, Gray knew both her strengths and her weaknesses as a fighter. She wouldn't stand a chance against James; her speed and mind reading ability would not be enough to save her in a fight against him. Gray's narrowed amber eyes fixed on Victoria. Victoria, she could handle. She was already aware of Victoria's gift for self-preservation and escape, but Victoria was completely unaware of Gray's ability to read every thought, no matter how errant, as it passed through her mind. The advantage would be Gray's.

The outcome of the fight between James and the wolf was another story. Just as she had with Jasper's training, the Quileute Alpha's mind recalled every encounter any of the pack had had with a vampire throughout their existence. A true werewolf could kill a vampire in a one-on-one fight. However, the Quileute wolves had to have the numbers in their favor to best a vampire, and outnumbered three-to-one, as he believed he was, his thoughts were torturous for Gray to hear. The Alpha held out no hope for his own survival, but that hardly entered his thoughts other than the acknowledgment of it. His only concern was for his mate. He knew enough of what the scent of human blood did to a vampire to hope that the three of them might attack each other, one or maybe even two being destroyed, allowing him to protect his mate until his pack brothers arrived.

The Quileute Alpha stood protectively over his injured mate, ferocious and growling through his dagger-like teeth, his massive head looking first toward James and Victoria, then toward Gray herself. His mate's name was repeated over and over in his mind like a mantra.

Edward's face flashed through her mind. Had it been him lying there injured. . . .

Exploding with rage unlike anything she'd ever felt, Gray launched herself through the air like a shot from a cannon, her body outstretched like a mountain lion leaping forward in pursuit of its prey. Her hands were curled into deadly claws. The monster that lived hidden inside her roared with white-hot fury. Never in all her near-century of this life, not even in her darkest days, had she allowed that monster as close to the surface as she did in that moment as Edward's face and his name, the sound of his voice and the strong, steady sound of his heartbeat and his breathing propelled her forward, into a fight against two of her own kind alongside a creature that existed for no reason other than to destroy her.

She landed with cat-like grace within arm's reach of the Quileute Alpha and his mate, but her attention was solely on the threat now only a few dozen yards away.

James' error regarding what to expect from the Alpha wasn't his only mistake. He'd fully expected Gray would be intent on draining the human woman and would, driven wild by bloodlust, foolishly try to battle both them and the wolf to claim her. When she didn't so much as glance at either the injured human or the massive beast, his concentration uncharacteristically faltered for the briefest of moments. A second surprise was the golden hue of her eyes. Neither James nor Victoria knew what to make of it, of her.

The Alpha snarled hot and heavy at her. Gray could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. Loathing boiled inside him, and he fought to restrain himself, to control his natural instinct to rip her apart. As long as Gray's focus remained intent on the approaching two, he would not allow himself to be lured away from his mate.

A low, rumbling sound emanated from deep inside her chest, and Gray launched herself at Victoria, slamming into her with the force of a wrecking ball and sending her flying.

Knocked several feet backward, Victoria landed hard, crumpled on the ground. Gray dove at her again, but in a fraction of a second, Victoria was back on her feet, crouched and hissing, her muscles coiled and ready to spring, her arms raised and her fingers curled as if to tear into Gray's throat. She ducked to the side, escaping Gray's reach an instant before her fingers could find their mark around her neck. Gray hit the ground, but with her speed, she was turned and ready to strike again faster than Victoria could attack.

They stood facing each other, sizing each other up, every thought in Victoria's head broadcast loud and clear to Gray, who forced herself to not give in to the wild fury inside her. As Jasper had taught her, she needed to think, to remain in control. Letting her emotions cloud her focus could be fatal.

Gray stalked toward the other woman slowly, predatorily, her eyes intent on her opponent's face while her mind kept constant track of both James and the Quileute Alpha.

James was enjoying himself. He circled the enormous creature, grinning mockingly as he taunted the animal, darting a few feet toward the gigantic wolf before stepping back and laughing, trying to draw him into a fight, draw him away from the injured woman he protected. But the Alpha refused to be lured away from his mate. His mind was one with his pack brothers as they raced toward him. He dared to hope that Gray and Victoria would keep each other busy until the wolf closest to them arrived. He and the nearest wolf—Jacob, the Alpha's thoughts identified him as—were the largest and strongest of the five, and Jacob was the fastest. Together, they would be more than equal to destroying James, and if either Gray or Victoria could finish the other off, they believed they would be ready for whoever survived.

In front of her, everything about Victoria's appearance was aggressive, but her thoughts gave her away. She wasn't interested in fighting. Her only thought was escape. Her eyes darted to James. She wanted to run, but she wouldn't leave without him, and she knew he wouldn't give up his game. She knew his games came before her, and now Gray knew that too.

Gray could not yet hear the nearest wolf tearing through the woods toward them, and she knew Victoria could not either, but she did know from which direction he was coming—from Forks—and Victoria's eyes flashed in that direction as if she could somehow sense the approaching threat. Her gift of self-preservation, Gray realized. She knew there was danger approaching without yet being able to see, hear, or smell it.

Regardless of the reason behind that glance, rage burned inside Gray at Victoria's even daring to look in Edward's direction. She forced herself to not give in to it. She needed to keep her head figuratively if she was to keep it literally. She could not protect Edward if she was reduced to ashes.

 _James!_ Victoria silently pled, her eyes once again turning toward him before returning to Gray.

Capitalizing on the inequality in James and Victoria's relationship, Gray lowered her posture as if ready to pounce, and she sneered. "You shouldn't have come here," she said in a low voice.

Victoria didn't answer. She considered running in the direction of Forks, and Gray nearly lost control of herself. Victoria's idea was to run toward the approaching threat, which she assumed Gray would not be aware of, her intention being to lure Gray into the path of danger and let her two foes fight each other, while she herself returned to James' side.

Desperate to keep Victoria where she was, Gray repeated her taunt. "You shouldn't have come here." Grinning maliciously, she added, "As you can see, it's already a bit . . . crowded." Gray moved toward Victoria, forcing her to move away from Forks. She continued, "You should leave—now, while you still can. I know you want to. Fighting isn't really your strength, is it? Your skill is turning and running, isn't it? So, what are you waiting for? Do it. Leave. Run. That's what you do best, isn't it? But you can't, can you? Because he won't, will he? And you won't leave without him, will you?"

Victoria's eyes flickered to James.

"He won't help you, and you know it. He's having too much fun. I know you tried to warn him. I heard you. But he didn't listen to you, did he? Foolish of him, arrogant." Gray scowled, continuing to advance toward Victoria as she spoke, forcing her away from Forks inch by inch as she attacked her verbally, hoping to anger her into the recklessness Gray herself knew to avoid. "I do so hate arrogant men, don't you? The one and only reason he keeps you around, and he disregards you completely. He doesn't love you. But you already knew that, didn't you, Victoria?"

Victoria's eyes widened at her name.

Gray smirked at the pain that flashed through the other vampire's mind at her taunt. "Oh, yes. I know all about the two of you and the . . . _games_ you like to play. I know—as do you—his real interest in you lies in your uncanny skill at running away." Gray snickered. "I daresay any other skillsof yours don't impress him all that much. Plenty of others out there better on their backs than you are. Or their hands and knees, whatever his favorite position may be."

Victoria hissed. Her body trembled.

Gray went for the kill. "You don't have to die, Victoria. He's not worth it. You can leave," she lied. Under no circumstances would she allow a human-feeding vampire so close to Edward to survive. "Don't be so foolish as to sacrifice yourself for a man who doesn't care a whit for you. You're nothing to him but a handy escape route should he bite off more than he can chew. Hunters care more for their mount than he cares for you. You're nothing but a tool to him."

Victoria roared. Gray's barbs had been a direct hit. Incensed, Victoria sprang at her, but Gray was ready for her. Victoria was irate, irrational, but her thoughts still betrayed her actions, even if by the barest fraction of a second, and with Gray's speed, she was ready to defend herself and evaded Victoria's grasp by millimeters.

She laughed. "Oh, you're going to have to do much better than that."

Victoria came at her a second time, and once again Gray spun out of her reach, leaving Victoria to crash into the ground where Gray had stood a split second before. Before Victoria could regain her feet, Gray planted a strong kick to her side, cracking ribs and sending her careening into a nearby pine, snapping it in two.

Victoria staggered to her feet, standing almost upright but not quite. She hid her huddled posture as a crouch, as if she were preparing to spring forward in a fresh attack, and fought to keep the wince of pain Gray heard in her mind off her face.

Gray shook her head. "Let me show you how it's done." She vaulted toward Victoria with such speed she would've been all but invisible to the eyes of the injured human lying not far away had the woman been looking. Feigning a second blow to Victoria's already injured torso, Gray grabbed hold of the other vampire's arm as she raised it in an attempt to defend herself. Spinning around, Gray twisted the arm, bending it back until she heard the _pop_ of the joint dislocating. She bared her teeth and sank them into Victoria's shoulder. Victoria's shriek of pain rent the air. Reaching behind her with her free arm, desperately grabbing for whatever part of Gray she could reach as Gray forced her to the ground, she screamed, "James!"

Finally, the nearest wolf entered Gray's field of hearing. He was within three miles of them now. It was odd; she could hear his thoughts and those of the others in both his mind and echoed in the mind of the Alpha, like hearing the same program on televisions in two different rooms.

At that same moment, James lunged. The Alpha met him in midair with a ferocious thundering crash, each trying to tear into the other.

Caught up entirely in his game, James never spared a thought for the woman pleading for his help.

Gray returned her attention to Victoria still struggling beneath her. Planting her foot high up on the other vampire's spine, she tugged and twisted the injured arm until Victoria's cries of agony, desperation, and fury mingled with a horrific metallic screech.

Gray tossed the severed limb into the trees. With her knee pressing Victoria to the ground and grabbing hold of her remaining arm, Gray spared a glance toward the Alpha and James. The Alpha did not appear injured after their brief struggle. James bore three long gashes, incongruous with the wide grin upon his face. The wounds weren't severe. If anything, it heightened his enjoyment.

Grabbing hold of Victoria's remaining arm, Gray twisted it behind her. Lowering her face to the back of Victoria's head, Gray whispered to her, her lips only inches from the back of Victoria's neck, her voice as soft as if she spoke words of endearment to a lover. "You really shouldn't have come here." With that, Gray's teeth pierced Victoria's skin a second and final time. Victoria's screams were abruptly cut off as her head rolled away from her body, her last ignored plea for help frozen on her lips.

Rising slowly and stepping over the body as if it were nothing but a fallen tree trunk, Gray approached James and the Alpha.

She moved cautiously, cutting a wide berth around the Alpha's injured mate, wanting to make clear to the Alpha that his mate's blood was of no interest to her. She doubted the scent of it was much of a lure for James anymore, so thoroughly had the stench of the wolf overpowered it. She couldn't imagine any scent being powerful enough to compete with that sickening stink for very long.

For James, it was all the thrill of the game. Despite the three long slices across his chest, he never doubted he had the upper hand, and he continued to taunt the animal.

The Alpha stood, tall and fierce, between his mate and James, great puffs of hot breath escaping between his teeth.

James took a step to the left, then another, as if to circle the wolf. The Alpha shifted his body, keeping perfectly oriented toward James like the needle on a compass pointing north, but never moving from the spot where he stood. Unknowingly, James was positioning himself with his back to the wolf tearing full-tilt toward them. The enormous animals were able to move surprisingly quietly, but there couldn't be more than a few seconds left until James heard him.

Gray chose a spot carefully—near, but not too near—and settled in to observe, paying close attention to every thought that passed through both James' and the Alpha's minds.

While James had not spared any real concern for Victoria's fate, he was not happy to have been robbed of such a valuable asset. Gray had irritated him. Worse, she had also spiked his interest, both by how quickly she had dispatched Victoria and also with her honey-colored eyes. Gray seethed at the thoughts James was entertaining regarding her.

She had taken up a spot northeast of James. The Alpha stood northwest of him. The nearest wolf was coming from nearly due south, and the other three wolves were coming from the southwest. James was as encircled as possible.

The Alpha's thoughts became much more aggressive. Whereas before he had been on the defensive, he now wanted to attack, and it showed. He growled, the sound low and menacing. His ears were flat against his enormous head. His body was rigid, his hackles raised. One of the threats had been eliminated, a second—Gray, herself—gave no indication of intending to harm his mate, and help was so close now. . . .

The wolf took two slow steps toward James. Like a hungry human eyeing up a table laden with food, he licked his chops. His large golden eyes—the shade not unlike her own—glittered eagerly.

James grinned in expectation of a fight he had every confidence he would win, but the grin slid from his face as he finally heard the approach of the wolf the Alpha called Jacob.

Gray smirked. "Company's coming," she said.

James turned his ruby-colored eyes to her, a thousand curses filling his mind. He did not like to be robbed of his prize, and he was to be robbed of two at once.

Gray pushed off of the tree and stalked slowly toward James.

"And the hunter becomes the hunted. Pity you haven't got Victoria to get you out of this one. You should have listened to her."

Not having any idea of why Gray was acting as she was, turning on her own kind, but not questioning it if it helped him protect his mate, the Alpha sprang forward.

James charged, and they slammed together with the force of an avalanche crashing into a village.

From where she lay on the ground, her upper body leaning against a tree, the Alpha's mate cried out as the fight began in earnest. Gray pitied the woman. With the speed both vampires and the Quileute wolves possessed, it was impossible for her human eyes to follow their movements. _Horrible_ , Gray thought to herself, _to know the one you love is in danger and not be able to help him or even see what was happening_.

The image of an older Quileute woman dressed in hand-woven cloth and animal skins appeared in the human woman's mind. Another vampire, a female, fought another wolf. Dead lay all around: several humans and one wolf. The woman cradled one of the dead in her arms—her son, Gray presumed by the level of grief on the woman's face. Facing the vampire and remaining wolf locked in mortal combat, the older woman took a crudely fashioned knife from the young man's lifeless fingers, and with her eyes filled with bravery and wrath in equal measure, she stabbed herself.

Gray forced herself not to gasp, not to react in any way to what she was seeing in the human woman's mind.

The vampire in the human woman's mind turned her attention toward the older woman. That moment of distraction allowed the wolf to finish her.

Shaking but determined, the Alpha's injured mate raised her mutilated arm and tried to aggravate her wounds, to make them bleed more. She was desperately hoping the scent of her blood might do what she believed the other woman's had done—buy her mate just a moment of advantage.

While unquestionably brave, the woman's efforts were in vain. The scent of her blood had long been overpowered by the heavy stench of the wolf.

Shaking off what she'd just seen and returning her full attention to where it needed to be, Gray crept forward, studying their movements, their thoughts. She had to choose just the right moment to enter the fight.

When the Alpha dove at James again, Gray leapt forward. Coming at him from the side, she delivered a powerful kick to James' knee with the inside of her foot.

James had delivered a vicious blow aimed at the Alpha's left flank, but knocked off balance by Gray's kick, the blow caught the animal low on his hind leg.

James regained his footing almost immediately and turned to Gray. Enraged, his eyes burned like fire.

The Alpha took advantage of James' attention being on Gray to attack again. James raised his hand to strike at Gray, but the Alpha came at him with his mouth wide open, and his powerful jaws clamped shut on James' hand, mangling it.

James roared in pain and anger. With his other hand, he struck at the Alpha, and the tremendous power of the blow sent the enormous animal flying through the air and crashing into a tall spruce. The tree cracked from the force of the impact, and Gray heard the unmistakable sound of a large bone breaking and smelled the powerful scent of the animal's blood as he crashed back to the ground, taking out branches as he fell, before landing, crumpled on the ground.

The Alpha did not get up. His mate screamed.

James glared at Gray, then smirked.

The nearest wolf was so close now, Gray could see James and herself in his mind as he watched them fight. She could smell him, and she recognized his scent immediately.

James sprang at her, but hearing his plan in his mind she easily evaded his grasp, spinning around and driving her foot into the small of his back as his arms closed around empty air, sending him sprawling forward.

The Alpha's injured mate cried bitterly, but the creature didn't move.

The woman's anguish distracted Gray for a fraction of a second. However brief, the distraction was enough to delay her reaction when James righted himself and came at her again. Grabbing her arm as she attempted to duck away from him, James pulled her to him. He held her in his grip, her back pressed to his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. His hand was like a vise on her right shoulder. Pain exploded in her, and James laughed mockingly as her collarbone splintered.

He pressed his lips against her neck in a mockery of a kiss, his teeth slicing into her skin. "Pity. You taste so sweet. You 'n me could'a had fun, baby."

He bit her neck a second time, playing with her and enjoying it. He had no intention of finishing her himself. His bites were for his own enjoyment, meant to cause her pain and humiliation, nothing more. James needed her in one piece. He intended to throw her at the second wolf and take to the trees himself in escape.

Gray struggled, but she knew she could not break free. James was too strong. She could not free herself, but if she could just. . . .

She reached behind herself with her left arm. Jasper had taught her well how to fight a stronger and larger opponent. The leftover sensibilities of her Edwardian upbringing had been mortified when he'd taught her to fight a man by attacking him where he was most vulnerable, but she didn't give them a single thought now as she pressed her fingers to the front of the torn and filthy jeans James wore. She grabbed hold of him through the denim and closed her hand tightly, squeezing her fingers and twisting her wrist.

James howled. He released his grip on her, and she spun around, driving her foot into the side of his knee a second time, this time feeling immense satisfaction as she felt the joint dislodge. Gray raised her left arm and crashed her elbow into James' jaw.

"That's for my mate, you bastard," she snarled.

Just as the nearest wolf came crashing on the scene, Gray dove to the ground, getting herself out of his path but further injuring her shoulder.

Safely out of harm's way herself, Gray watched as the enormous beast—surprisingly even larger than the Alpha—launched himself at James, his mouth snapping closed around James' neck.

* * *

Teasers will be posted on Facebook group Pay It Forward (groups/896806390388220/). I also intend to ask the administrator of Fan Fiction Discussion for WIPs group on Facebook, group # is 824471740914375, if I could post teasers there as well.

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"Gwyneth Paltrow as Emma Woodhouse" and "Gwyneth's Emma" refer to the movie adaptation of Jane Austen's _Emma_ , with Gwyneth Paltrow playing the title character.


	5. Chapter 5

This story is set in 2012. Not hugely important, but it is relevant here and there.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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 _._

 _STEPPING FROM SHA_ _DOWS_

 _Chapter 5_

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Edward ran along the bank of the Calawah River, gravel crunching beneath his feet. His legs burned. His shirt clung to him, soaked through with sweat. But as always when he ran, everything else faded away. There was only himself.

He'd tried other sports, but—and this might sound arrogant—he'd never liked being part of a team. Or, at least, he liked being on a team just fine, but he'd never liked competing as part of a team. He preferred the "me-against-everyone-else" aspect of running. Yeah, he was part of a team, which was great, but when everyone lined up at the starting line, it was every man for himself. Of course he wanted his teammates to do well, but he stood at the starting line intending to be the first one across the finish himself. His father preferred more traditional team sports—baseball, football, basketball. Name any sport that involved any kind of a ball, and his father was a fan. Edward was too, but for him, nothing compared to running.

Today was a six-mile run day. The cross country season was over, and he was now training for his second half-marathon. His ultimate goal was to one day run in Boston, but that was a long way off.

He took a drink from the water bottle he carried and checked his watch. He'd been out for almost an hour; not a bad time for this point in his training. He'd need to pick it up big time by race day, but that wasn't until June. Right now, he was more focused on building his mileage back up to where it needed to be. Speed would come later.

Turning onto a path that led through the woods back to his street, Edward headed home. Today was the first day he'd run this far in a long time, and his muscles were protesting the extra distance. A long, hot shower sounded pretty good.

Arriving home, he found his father sitting on the deck, reading the paper. Mr. Varner's accident was the headline. Edward took his earbuds out and set them on the table with his phone.

"Six today?" his father asked.

Edward nodded his head as he raised his water bottle to his lips. "An hour," he responded, breathing heavily and wiping his face with the hem of his shirt.

Neither of them mentioned the large color picture of the man smiling on the front page beneath the headline.

"Hear from Jake?"

Edward began his after-run stretches. "Not yet. Said yesterday he'd be over around one, after he was finished at the library."

"You're sure we're talking about the same kid, right?" his father asked.

Jacob Black was, without a doubt, the worst procrastinator in the world when it came to getting his homework done. Only one thing would get him into the library on a Saturday.

Edward looked out across the yard as he stretched his triceps. "Said he'd be busy with Sam later today and tomorrow until real late." He andJake had been best friends all their lives, but about a year ago, Jake began spending more and more time with a man a few years older than them named Sam Uley, and Edward didn't like it. He didn't like Sam.

Both Jacob and Sam were Native American, members of the Quileute tribe, and lived in La Push, a small reservation on the coast about fifteen miles outside of Forks. Sam was something of a superstar on the reservation—you'd think the guy made the sun rise every morning by the way the entire tribe hero-worshiped him. In La Push, Sam could do no wrong. He even had a group of followers, like his own personal fan club, and for the past year or so, Edward's best friend was the club president.

It wasn't just that Edward didn't like Sam; he was worried. He knew the only reason his best friend was doing schoolwork on a Saturday was likely because Sam had told him to, but Sam was the size of a redwood, and his followers were all nearly as big as he was. As they'd grown up, Jake had always been taller than average and had had a strong build, but in the past year, since he'd started hanging out so much with Sam, he'd gotten huge. Jake was now as big as Sam, if not a bit bigger. He stood a good four inches taller than Edward—who was six-foot-two—and was built like an NFL lineman.

There were rumors around school about the size of some of the guys in La Push and just how they got that big. Worried about how his best friend had bulked up so much in just a year, Edward had told his father about the rumors. He hadn't wanted to rat Jake out, but, fuck it all, steroids were dangerous. In the end, he'd decided he could live with Jake being pissed as hell with him if he ever found out a lot easier than he could live with himself if he kept his mouth shut and anything happened. To Edward's surprise, his father had nodded his head after a few moments of silence and said that he'd heard all the rumors before, that they were the same rumors that had always gone around about the Quileutes. His father had said it was just something that was in their blood, and there was nothing going on in La Push that Edward needed to worry about.

"Sam's a good guy," his father said, as if he knew what Edward was thinking about.

Edward picked up his phone and earbuds. "Yeah. Yeah, Sam's great. I'm gonna grab a shower."

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 _My mate. . . ._

The weight of Gray's words hit her the instant she'd said them, and it left her shell-shocked.

 _My mate. . . ._

The words ran in her mind in a never-ending circle. Green eyes filled her mind until she was scarcely aware of anything else. The sound of a strong, steady heartbeat filled her soul until she thought it might burst.

 _My mate. . . ._

Gray sat motionless, hypnotized by the power of those two words. She'd waited nearly a hundred years to be able to say them, and now she could. It was overpowering. In the very instant she'd realized there was a threat to Edward's safety, she'd understood how precious he was to her. How had she ever considered him as just a short-term distraction? It was an insult! Edward! A distraction! Edward was her everything, the very center of her universe.

After all the minds she'd read, she thought she'd understood what it was like to be in love, even though it was not something she'd experienced for herself, but now she knew how wrong she'd been. What she'd seen in the minds of others had been nothing but a pale shadow of the real thing. Nothing seen second-hand could have prepared her for the reality of feeling the emotion herself. She felt as light as a feather, like she was floating on air, but at the same time she'd never felt so rooted, so grounded as she did now.

 _Edward Charles Swan . . . Edward . . . such a strong name . . . Papa's name._ She recalled everything she knew about the young man who had so suddenly and irrevocably become the center of her world. _He was born in Forks, Washington on June 20, 1995. He's seventeen and an only child. Just like me. He's a junior at Forks High School._ She knew next to nothing about her mate, and she couldn't wait to get to know him better. She wanted to learn everything there was to learn. _What are his interests? His likes, his dislikes?_ She knew he was a runner and liked to read—both largely solitary pursuits. _Does he like to be by himself?_ Gray enjoyed solitude whenever she could find it. _How lovely would it be to share that solitude with Edward? Just the two of us . . ._ Gray's mind dreamed up a myriad of ways they could enjoy being alone together.

 _What is he doing right now?_ Disregarding the sun that continued to shine brightly above the towering trees, she wanted to go and find him right then and there, but when she attempted to rise to do just that, pain lanced through her shoulder. The elation she felt at finding her mate had temporarily blocked the pain of her injuries, but her sudden movement had brought it back in full force. Her shoulder was visibly deformed where her clavicle had been crushed by James—an injury that had not been helped by diving to the ground to avoid the second wolf's dagger-like teeth as he lunged at James. Raising her left hand to her neck, she gingerly touched her fingers to the two bite wounds James had given her. They were shallow and healing, but they still burned from James' venom. They would leave scars, she knew.

Along with the pain of her injuries, the world around her also came back to her with a jolt.

She could hear the Alpha's rapid heartbeat and his shallow breaths. His mate had staggered to her feet and was making her way to him, swaying as she moved, whether from her own injuries or shock, Gray didn't know. At the sight of the prone creature, she fell to her knees beside him, crying out his name and burying her face in the fur at his neck. Her body shook with the force of her sobs.

The second wolf abandoned his attack on James' remains and joined the woman at the Alpha's side. Seeing his Alpha, he raised his head and howled to the heavens, the matching cries of his packmates echoing in his mind.

Gray watched the scene in front of her. She wanted nothing more than to leave and find Edward, but she hesitated. It had been the stench of the second wolf she'd smelled on Edward last night as he ate dinner with his father, and again, later, when she'd entered his bedroom. As distressing as she found the thought, there was no denying this enormous creature regularly spent a great deal of time with her mate, so much so that the wolf's scent had almost completely overpowered Edward's own in his bedroom. They were friends. For all she knew, the woman and the Alpha were Edward's friends as well.

Gray didn't know how much blood the Alpha had lost, but by how strong the smell of it had become, she knew it had to be a good deal. She'd distinctly heard the snap of what had sounded like a very large bone when he'd impacted with the tree—a femur, she guessed—and there was the possibility of other injuries to be considered. She could see in the second wolf's mind that they had a basic knowledge of first aid, but they were not doctors.

She, however, was.

How could she face Edward if she walked away from his friends when she could have been of assistance to them?

"I can help him, if you would permit me," she offered in her best doctor's voice, her tone confident and reassuring. Although she had two medical degrees to her name, she'd never been to veterinary school. Not that a degree in veterinary medicine would be helpful in this situation, she feared. The Quileute wolves would not have been on the curriculum.

The second wolf turned toward her and growled.

The Alpha's mate looked at her with fear in her eyes, but behind those eyes, her mind was filled with undeniable strength and courage and a love for the Alpha so strong she would do anything for him—even accept the help of a creature she'd been taught all her life to despise, if that's what it took.

Gray took two slow steps forward. She could now see for herself the injury which had been hidden from her view before. One of the animal's hind legs was bent mid-thigh and was bleeding heavily from a long gash. The femur was clearly broken, but the bleeding took precedence. It was vital that the bleeding be stopped, but Gray didn't dare draw closer. While, in her desperation, the Alpha's mate might be weighing whether Gray could actually help, the second wolf was only refraining from charging at her because, from what Gray could see in his mind, the treaty between his pack and her family was physically preventing him. It was intriguing. He wanted to attack, was desperate to, but something in his mind prohibited him. She filed that knowledge away to share with her family later.

He positioned himself between Gray and his Alpha and the woman. He could not be the aggressor in a confrontation between Gray and himself, but he could respond if he deemed her actions as threatening.

Time was of the essence, but there was nothing Gray could do without the consent of the massive creature in front of her. She wished Carlisle were there. He was the diplomat, not her.

 _Jasper's influence would be helpful, too,_ she thought to herself as the second wolf blew great puffs of hot air out of nostrils the size of her would be tremendously helpful if the horse-sized wolf curled up on the ground in contentment and dozed off. But she was alone. Speaking slowly and evenly, she began with the obvious. "He has severe bleeding, and his femur is broken. He may have further injuries. The bleeding needs to be gotten under control immediately, and the bone needs to be set so it can heal properly. I've graduated from medical school twice. I can help him."

"Help him! Oh, God, please, help him!" the Alpha's mate cried, beyond caring what Gray was. All the woman cared about was that Gray could help the man she loved, something Gray had a much greater understanding of now than she would have had a short while ago. Had it been Edward. . . .

She repressed a shiver and told herself Edward was safe. _There is no reason to suppose he's even been in the woods today_. She assured herself that there had been no trace of the scent of a human on either James or Victoria, and that by the darkening red of their eyes, it had likely been a good many days since they'd last fed.

The second wolf did not move. He was torn between deeply opposed instincts—to keep her away from his Alpha and to get his Alpha help. Flashes of talk on the reservation sped through his mind. As word spread throughout the tribe that her family had returned to the area, people had begun to say they'd refuse to go to the hospital in Forks as long as Carlisle was employed there. As the wolf was learning, words were cheap when they were just words. Actions were another matter altogether.

Gray said to him, "You can hear how fast his heart is beating. That's because of the blood loss. His heart is working harder to pump the remaining blood through his body."

"Jacob! Please!" the woman begged. Gray feared the woman would become hysterical, and she again wished her empathic brother were there. The woman's own injuries were not inconsequential, but fortunately, they did not appear as severe as Gray had feared they would be, having seen them in the mind of the Alpha. Miraculously, no major blood vessels seemed to have been damaged, and the bleeding had stopped on its own. Nerve damage was possible with an injury like hers, but the woman had spoken, and Gray had seen her move the fingers on her injured hand. There would be extensive scarring, but there should be no lasting significant impairment.

As a vampire, Gray's mind could focus on multiple thoughts at once, and while she'd been considering the woman's injuries, she had not let the mind of the second wolf slip from her attention for a moment. His own thoughts were mixed in his head with the mental voices of the other three wolves. She felt a wave of empathy for the whole pack. She knew what it was to not have one's head to one's self.

The woman's eyes were on the Alpha, and in a voice too low for her to hear, Gray whispered to the wolf, "He will die without help. He will bleed to death in front of her. Is that what you want?" It made little difference to her. She'd offered her assistance solely for Edward's sake. Whether they accepted her offer was for them to decide.

The other three wolves' thoughts were screaming at each other, at the second wolf, and at her, until the second wolf's booming _Enough!_ silenced them. He stepped aside, allowing Gray to pass.

She stepped forward. The russet-colored second wolf's narrowed eyes never left her as she approached his Alpha. As if he knew she could hear what he was thinking, his thoughts were telling her in no uncertain terms that if he interpreted a single action as hostile, he'd be on her—in somewhat more explicit, if unimaginative, language.

Gray shuddered at the thought of the horse-sized wolf being close enough to Edward for his scent to be left behind as strongly as it had been. _Look at what happened to the woman_ . . . Gray's eyes drifted to the second wolf. _He'd make a nice wolf-skin rug once we got the stink out. So much as one scratch on him, mutt, just one, and I'll skin you alive._

Speaking calmly and clearly, Gray knelt beside the unconscious Alpha and addressed his mate. Unable to use her right arm, she was going to need the woman's help. "I'm going to feel for the pulse point of his femoral artery. We're going to need to apply steady pressure to stop the bleeding."

As Gray trailed her fingers through the thick, black fur at the top of his hind leg, the woman stuttered, "We? We?"

Turning to the trembling woman, Gray said, "My shoulder is broken. I can only use my left arm. I'm going to need your help. Between the two of us, we've got two good arms. You can do this."

Gray felt the weak pulse beneath her fingertips. "Right here. See where my fingers are? I need you to press right there. Firmly."

The woman's lips were quivering, but she did as Gray instructed, a sob catching in her throat.

"You can do this," Gray repeated. "Press with your whole hand. Like this." She demonstrated how she wanted the woman to press her hand on the animal's leg. "Very good. Keep it up. Lean your weight onto him. That's right. Don't let up on the pressure. You're doing fine."

The woman breathed deeply, wiping her face with the palm of her injured hand. Shock had likely dulled the pain, and being able to do something to help was giving her mind something to focus on. _The human mind and body are amazing things_ , Gray reflected. Although injured and after what she'd just witnessed, the woman was still able to do what was needed thanks to a combination of adrenaline and sheer strength of will.

The flow of blood now stopped, Gray examined the wound. It was deep—she could see the femur clearly through the severed muscle. The bone was broken straight across; the ends were displaced, but minimally. While the wound was still contaminated with various bits of debris from the impact with the tree, the heavy bleeding had carried a good amount of it away, and the ends of the bone and the area surrounding it were clean.

"You're doing wonderfully," Gray said to the woman. "I need to set the bone." She glanced at her companions sympathetically. "You might want to turn away for this."

The woman's breath shuddered, but she shook her head bravely. The second wolf remained motionless, never letting on he'd heard her.

Focusing on her patient, Gray realigned the bone quickly and efficiently. The woman swallowed hard. The wolf flinched and looked away.

That done, Gray relaxed and sat back on her heels. "It looks good. The leg needs to be stabilized before he can be moved, but it looks good."

"The wolves all heal very quickly," the woman said, as much to herself as to Gray, who could see the evidence of that for herself. The rate of healing was extraordinary. Blood clots were already formed at the site of the break. She could actually see the healing process progressing.

Pressure would normally need to be applied for several minutes to stop bleeding as heavy as the wolf's had been, but Gray could see how fast the blood had clotted at the site of the break, and she feared asking too much of the woman. "I think it should be safe for you to relax your arm now. You've done superbly."

"Should be?"

"He is healing remarkably quickly. I can see his blood clotting around the break in the bone, which is the first stage in healing. The clots are very advanced for such a fresh injury. It looks much older than it is. The same is likely true with his veins. We'll do it slowly. Don't pull your hand away completely, just ease up a little. If there is any bleeding, reapply the pressure immediately."

The woman was skeptical, but she breathed deeply and did as instructed. Together—vampire, human, and wolf—they watched for fresh bleeding, but there was none. All three relaxed.

Little by little, Gray instructed the woman to decrease the pressure further until her hand rested softly on the Alpha's blood-matted fur and tears of relief filled her eyes.

With the two obvious injuries tended to, Gray leaned cautiously over the animal and gently prodded along his spine and ribs. Heat was radiating off him. Touching him was like holding her hand over an open flame.

"What are you doing?" the woman asked. Her voice held concern, but no suspicion.

"Not all injuries are obvious. If he were to be moved with a spinal injury, he could be paralyzed. Or fractured ribs could puncture a lung." Once she was as sure as she could be there were no other serious injuries with nothing but her own observation to go on, she stood up. "Is their normal body temperature higher than a human's?"

"Yeah, one ten."

Gray nodded. That's about what she'd have guessed he was running. "His loss of consciousness could indicate a concussion. I can't detect any other injuries, but I could easily be wrong. He could come to at any time. When he does, he is going to be in considerable pain—and agitation, which my scent on him will not help. Stress to him the importance of remaining still. I would recommend he remain in his wolf form until his leg is fully healed." She observed the wound. It was continuing to heal at an incredible rate. She would have guessed the injury was several hours old rather than only minutes. "I don't know anything about the stress phasing puts on their bodies, but I can't imagine it would be safe."

"We have someone on the reservation who takes care of the wolves when they get injured." The woman hesitated. "She's a nurse at the hospital, in the OR."

"Don't neglect your own wounds. They need to be properly cleaned and dressed just as much as his do. I'm sure Carlisle will be happy to provide any prescriptions either of you need—antibiotics and pain killers."

Having done all she could at the moment, Gray stepped away, giving them at least the appearance of privacy. The wolves were not the only ones to heal quickly. She touched her neck where James had bitten her. Her skin had healed over, and they no longer burned as they had, but the spot was still tender. She gently prodded at her shoulder and attempted to move her right arm. She winced. It was getting better, but it would take time.

Out of nowhere, Gray heard a wild cry so loud she thought it might split her skull in two. She smiled as the fearsome rebel yell of Major Jasper Whitlock charging into battle rang loud and clear inside her head. _Alice must've seen the fight. She's seeing the wolves now, then_ , Gray thought to herself.

One by one, her family's thoughts became audible to her, and the grin fell from her face. Jasper and Emmett were murderous. Carlisle and Esme, inconsolable. Alice was filled with disbelief and guilt. Even Rosalie's thoughts were bent on revenge.

Revenge.

Gray stared into the trees. Alice hadn't seen the fight, but she had had a vision, and that vision was now replaying through her mind like a nightmare from which she couldn't wake up. Alice had seen Gray lying in the meadow she'd found, serene and contented like her sister had never seen her before, until the expression on her face suddenly changed, first to one of resignation then to one of pure primal fury, before, ultimately, she sprang to her feet and ran off into the woods like a shot. Then nothing. It wasn't like it normally was when Alice's visions ended. It was different—the vision just vanished abruptly. As if Gray's future had suddenly vanished. As if she no longer existed.

Horrified, Gray realized her family believed that Alice's vision had been of Gray's final moments. They thought she was dead.

"What? What is it? Are there more of them?" the woman cried, terrified once more.

Her family's anguish was torturous for Gray to hear, and her every instinct demanded she run to them, but she forced herself to remain where she was. She knew better than to draw undue attention to herself by acting oddly, and running off suddenly would unquestionably look odd. The pack was already questioning her behavior, and she couldn't risk raising more questions in their minds—particularly not as they were mind readers of a sort themselves.

"No," she said. "No, everything is fine. You're safe. My family is coming. I can hear them. I was exploring the woods alone and was supposed to return to the house to meet up with them.

When I didn't, they must've come looking for me and followed my scent here."

Already distraught, anger surged through Gray at the second wolf's contempt at her use of the word "family," but the surprise of Edward's suddenly appearing in the wolf's mind overpowered it. For one blissful moment, everything but the image of her mate and the sound of his voice fell away.

Edward was in what appeared to be a small, makeshift garage with another boy, a Native American, who Gray assumed was the second wolf in his human form. Edward was tearing a page from a notebook, and the other boy was working on one of two very questionable looking motorcycles. Edward said to the other boy, "Oh, hey. Did I tell ya? We're getting new kids at school after Easter."

Displeasure at the thoughts she heard in people's minds was easy to hide; she'd become largely inured to it over the course of nearly a century. Seeing something in someone's mind that brought her joy was much rarer, and nothing had ever brought her as much joy as the sight of her mate. She couldn't remember ever having to fight as hard to hide a smile as she did at that moment.

Allowing herself a brief indulgence, Gray mentally sighed, thinking to herself, _He was talking about me_ , before redirecting her attention to where it needed to be. She said to the second wolf, "I think they must've crossed James' and Victoria's scents somewhere. They sound worried."

"You knew them?" the woman asked hesitantly after a few moments. She was remembering the words Gray had spoken before James had been killed. _That's for my mate._

After the aid Gray had provided her mate, the woman's thoughts were turning sympathetic toward her, believing Gray had attacked the other two vampires in retaliation. Gray could hear the unverbalized question in the woman's mind. _Did they kill him?_ But the wolf and his pack brothers held no compassion for her. Their thoughts were accusatory. They blamed her family for James and Victoria coming to the area, for their Alpha and the woman being injured, and they were questioning how she had heard her family's approach when the second wolf still could not. Their thoughts were growing increasingly agitated as they worried her family's presence would lure more of their kind to the area. A low rumble vibrated in the animal's throat.

"We are not in the habit of turning on our allies," Gray said coldly, looking directly into the wolf's dark eyes. _He is a friend of Edward's_ , she had to remind herself. The pack was questioning her actions, and Gray knew she needed to offer them some valid reason for attacking two of her own kind. She paused, then answered with the truth. "They threatened my mate."

The woman dropped her eyes to the Alpha and stroked his fur lovingly.

The second wolf kept his eyes on Gray. She could see in his mind the same scene she'd witnessed earlier in the woman's thoughts—a female vampire dressed in the clothing of another century being destroyed by a wolf, her victims lying all around them.

The second wolf was anxious for his pack brothers to arrive, which they would soon. Gray could hear them now. She could hear each wolf's thoughts in his own head and repeated in his pack brothers' minds. It was odd, to say the very least. Four separate minds superimposed over each other and repeated in each wolf's own head. It was like a reflection in a carnival's House of Mirrors replicated over and over.

The breeze changed direction, carrying with it her family's scents, and Gray shouted out to them, hoping they were close enough to hear her. The tone of her family's thoughts changed in an instant, and Gray felt lighter as the heavy weight of their pain left her.

The second wolf had also caught her family's scents. His sense of smell was very acute, strong enough for him to detect each of her family members' individual scents—six, rather than the four he'd expected—and Gray could hear the accusation in the pack's minds. The treaty expressly forbade them from biting a human, but her family had grown since they'd first encountered the pack over seventy years ago. Seething, four minds screamed in unison that her family had broken their word and returned now only to flaunt their actions. The second wolf bared his teeth at her, a low rumbling sound beginning once again in his throat, but he made no move toward her. His packmates were demanding retaliation for the perceived breach, but the second wolf was considering the inevitable cost of such an action. Outnumbered, the pack would be slaughtered. Their tribe would be defenseless. The second wolf watched her through eyes narrowed almost to slits. His nostrils were flared. His loathing for her kind poured off him, but he once again silenced the other three with a single, thunderous command through their mental link.

Gray addressed him, trying to get the right balance of authority and humility Carlisle had used decades ago when they'd first encountered the pack. "Our family has grown since we first resided in the area, as I am sure you are now aware. We have been joined by two new members—a mated couple, my brother and sister, Alice and Jasper. We did not turn them. They were changed by others long before joining our family. They adhere to our diet. The treaty made with your forefathers is unbroken."

The wolves were skeptical of her story, but Gray was unconcerned. Let them believe her or not as they would; it was nothing to her. That she had done her duty to her mate and helped his friends was all that mattered. Her family would be there any moment, and the only thing she wanted now was to share her wondrous news with them and find Edward.

It was all she could do to not bounce on the balls of her feet in excitement as her family drew nearer. They were so close now, she could hear not just their footsteps but the air rustling through their clothing and hair as they ran. _Esme will be so happy_ , Gray told herself, grinning expectantly. She'd found her mate.

Granted, that when she found him he'd not only still be human, but also friends with a creature that existed solely to destroy her kind had never occurred to her. _That complicates matters_ , she conceded to herself. She would have to tread gently. It was inevitable that the pack would learn what Edward was to her, and once that happened they would attempt to poison his mind against her. Out of the corner of her eye, Gray could see the second wolf, Edward's friend, his coal-black eyes fixed firmly on her. _If they even wait that long. More likely they will begin attempting to turn him against us right away._ Gray matched the second wolf's glare. She would not let him and his littermates take Edward away from her. She would not lose what she had waited so long to find because of a bunch of overgrown mongrels.

It was Carlisle who arrived first, with the others close behind. His frenzied eyes ran over her, taking in the malformation of her shoulder and the scars James had left on her neck. His rage at her injuries was more than he could articulate either with words or in his thoughts. Gray had seen Carlisle truly furious only once before, when she'd still been human. Like all of her memories of her human life, that day was covered with a thick haze, but it was there, and she would carry it with her always. As terrible as the look she remembered on Carlisle's face that day was, the look there today eclipsed it. He was nearly unrecognizable as the man she'd lived with for over ninety years. His eyes were wild. The pain he'd felt when he'd believed she was dead had been so crushing and his relief at seeing her alive was so great, his brilliant mind was left incoherent with emotion as he pulled her into his arms.

Gray hissed. He held her so tightly she could feel the broken ends of her collarbone grind against each other.

He released her immediately.

"I'll be fine," Gray attempted to assure him.

Esme wept as her fingers traced the crescent-shaped scars on Gray's neck.

"I'll be fine," Gray repeated, taking Esme's hands in her own. Esme clutched Gray's hand desperately, refusing to let go.

Her siblings didn't approach her, but they were inspecting her injuries for themselves from where they stood, each wanting the ashes of the one who had inflicted them.

The unanimous assumption of her family after Alice's vision had been that the wolves had been responsible, but her injuries were clearly caused by another vampire. Two dead vampires, neither of whom was known to any of them, a gravely injured wolf, a second wolf, crouched and snarling, his lips curled and his hair standing on end, and a badly injured human woman. They had no idea what to make of anything.

"Who did this? Who hurt you?" Carlisle asked after finding his voice. His tone held the razor-sharp edge Gray recognized from that day in 1918. Her adoptive father had the most non-violent mind she'd ever heard, but at that moment, violent was not strong enough of an adjective to describe what Gray saw in his thoughts.

"Laurent's James and Victoria. I heard them tracking a man and a woman as they walked through the woods."

"And you approached them alone?" Carlisle asked, disbelievingly. _During a hunt? What could you possibly have been thinking!_

Gray's eyes darted toward the second wolf. The way she'd answered Carlisle—saying Laurent's James and Victoria _—_ had given her an unexpected advantage. After the explanation she had offered the pack as to why she'd acted as she had, they were assuming Laurent was her mate. _Good, let them go on thinking that._

"You could've been killed!" Carlisle exclaimed.

"But, I wasn't." Desperate for them to not question her further in present company, Gray gave her family a pointed look and darted her eyes once again to the second wolf. Forcing a grin onto her face and into her voice, she said, "This is nothing," gesturing to her own injuries. She motioned with a jerk of her head toward the scattered pieces of white marble littering the forest floor where James and Victoria had met their ends. "You should see the other guy."

Carlisle's eyes mimicked hers, glancing toward the wolf before returning to Gray. He dipped his head infinitesimally. The wolf did not notice the movement, but to her family the unspoken sign was loud and clear. There would be no questions asked until they were away from canine ears.

"Don't be too hard on her, Carlisle," Jasper said with a conspiratorial wink as he sent out a wave of calm toward the rest of their family. "We'd all have done the same," he arched his eyebrow at Gray, "under the circumstances." The remembrance of the moment he met Alice was playing through his mind.

 _You kept me waiting long enough._

 _My apologies, ma'am._

Right away, Gray understood he knew about Edward. She remembered the Confederate battle hymns that had played through her brother's mind as they'd hidden together in the trees behind Edward's house the night before. He'd known even then, she realized now. _Of course he did_ , she told herself _._ _He's Jasper._

 _Still want to tell me your only interest in this boy is his silent mind?_ he'd asked. He'd even warned, _And don't forget who it is you're talking to this time, Missy._

If Gray could blush, she would've under her brother's knowing gaze.

While the tone of their thoughts varied greatly—from Carlisle and Esme's parental concern to Rosalie's thundering _IDIOT!—_ the rest of her family was questioning what circumstances she could possibly have found herself in to warrant confronting two vampires mid-hunt, particularly two with the reputation of James and Victoria.

The military officer he'd once been showed as Jasper's thoughts turned to the matter of disposing of James' and Victoria's remains. They would need to be burned, but a raging fire along a trail through the wet forest of the Pacific Northwest would be conspicuous to say the very least—even without the thick purple smoke emitted by a fire consuming a vampire's body. _Perhaps a job best left to the wolves. Their reservation is isolated. A fire at night could pass undetected by outsiders, particularly with a favorable wind._ He voiced his thoughts, and the second wolf grunted in response. They were looking forward to it.

The remaining three wolves arrived within seconds of each other and moved to flank the second wolf. Although enormous in their own rights, they were not as big as either the second wolf or the Alpha. For a time, all that could be heard was the breathing and heartbeats of the one human and five wolves.

Under Jasper's calming influence, Carlisle gained control over himself, his natural compassion surfacing along with his inner doctor. He took in the human woman crouching wide-eyed with fear beside the still-unconscious Alpha, his expert eyes studying their injuries.

Gray had told him James and Victoria had been hunting a man and a woman, but there was no human male, dead or alive, and as overpowering as the wolves' stench was, the air clearly only held the perfume of the blood of one human.

"The couple James and Victoria were hunting . . . the man was one of the wolves?" he asked.

"Yes." Gray described the fight and what she had done to set the wolf's leg, finishing with, "Both their wounds need to be cleaned properly. I found no evidence of other injuries to the wolf, but the possibility can't be ruled out. He'll need to be moved with extreme caution. The woman will need help exiting the woods as well." It didn't require a medical degree to see that everything the human woman had been through was catching up to her. The trauma she had experienced had been extreme. She was pale, exhausted both physically and mentally.

"Of course," Carlisle said, his natural demeanor returning more fully with every passing second. "Of course," he repeated. He turned to the second wolf. "If we can be of any assistance, we are at your disposal."

Carlisle was concerned with how the four wolves would get the Alpha and the woman out of the woods, but the wolves were already planning among themselves. The Alpha and his mate had pulled off the highway and parked near the beginning of the trail. The Alpha's pickup was not far.

It was difficult for Gray to say who was more opposed to Carlisle's offer—the wolves or her siblings. The wolves made their distaste at the idea of accepting any further assistance from her family clear in every breath they took, and her siblings' thoughts revolted at the very idea of offering it. But no one could be more anxious for her family to leave than she herself was. She retook Esme's hand, squeezing it as excitement built in her. She couldn't wait to share her news.

Esme looked at Gray out of the corner of her eye. _What is it, darling?_

Gray dropped her eyes to the ground, her lips uncontrollably curving upward into a smile as thoughts of how soon she could see Edward again filled her mind. _What's he doing right now?_ She released Esme's hand and wrapped her arm around her mother's.

"Please do not hesitate to contact me if I can be of any assistance," Carlisle offered the wolves before turning to leave. Gray followed, practically dragging Esme along with her, her siblings closing in around her.

"Thank you," the human woman hesitantly called out to Gray, taking her by surprise. Her thoughts had filled so completely with Edward, she was all but oblivious to anything else.

"You are welcome," she answered.

Her family left the wolves to themselves, moving swiftly through the dense woods toward their home. Their minds were filled with a maelstrom of questions for her, but no words were spoken until the only thing Gray could hear of the wolves were their mental voices. Then, the dam broke, and she was bombarded.

Unsurprisingly, Rosalie was the loudest. "LUNATIC! IDIOT! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU PUT US THROUGH!" Her words were vehement, but her thoughts were worse, deliberately showing Gray the awful moment that Alice, sobbing and gasping for breath to speak, shared her vision with them. Seeing that moment was worse than anything Gray had ever experienced. Save one thing. Guilt racked her, but the truth was that hearing two human-feeding vampires in so close a vicinity to Edward had been worse. Never before had someone been more important to her than her family.

But now there was someone who was.

"I'm sorry."

"Now, let's all give the poor girl a little breathing room. She's had a very eventful couple of days," Jasper said, approaching her.

 _Eventful, he calls them. Eventful._

Jasper stood directly in front of Gray, reaching out a hand toward her neck. "Let me get a look at those," he said, referring to the scars that would be all but invisible to the human eye but which stood out in stark contrast to the rest of her skin to another vampire. Jasper was an authority on vampire bites. His lower face, neck, and forearms were covered with scores of bite scars, souvenirs of the life he'd endured before Alice had found him. Touching Gray's scars, he said, "They weren't intended to be lethal. The bites were too shallow to do any real damage."

Gray didn't share James' plan for her.

Alice ran to her and fell against Gray's uninjured shoulder, burying her face in Gray's hair. "I thought you were dead!" _You're my best friend, and I thought you were dead!_

"I'm sorry, Alice," Gray consoled her sister. "I didn't stop to think. There wasn't time. It happened so fast. As soon as I heard James and Victoria, I knew I had to destroy them. There was no choice. They were too close to him. I should've known you'd have a vision, but destroying them was the only thing my mind could focus on. They were too close to him. There was no choice. He wasn't safe. I had to protect him." Gray was rambling, and she knew it. The horrible, all-consuming fear she'd felt at hearing two human-feeding vampires so near her very human mate had returned, crashing over her like a tidal wave. Her injured shoulder protested, but she wrapped her arms around her sister. She didn't think she was capable of letting go. She didn't think she could stand without Alice to support her. _Edward had been in danger—real danger. What if I hadn't heard them? What if I had been just a little further away? They might've traced the scent of the second wolf back to Forks, looking for more. He's Edward's friend. They might've followed his scent directly back to Edward's house. I wouldn't have known anything was wrong. I'd have been lying in a field playing with flowers while Edward_. . . .

Gray's mind provided her with a multitude of ways James and Victoria might have found Edward, each more nightmarish for her to endure than the last. She envisioned Edward's lifeless body, limp and cold, broken, bloodless and bone-white, the terror and agony of his final moments marring his perfect features. The image wracked her with more pain than she'd ever experienced; her broken shoulder was nothing; even the torture she'd endured for three days as Carlisle's venom transformed her from dying human to immortal vampire paled into insignificance in comparison.

Sensing her growing hysteria, Jasper wrapped his gift around her, calming her. The relief of it was so complete it was as physical as it was emotional.

The same question was on each of her family's minds, but it was Alice who asked it.

"He _who_?"

Gray had rested her head on her sister's shoulder, emotionally exhausted, but now she raised it and looked at her family one by one, smiling.

"My mate," she said, her left arm around Alice and her eyes on Esme. Gray felt breathless with excitement.

Her announcement was met with silence, and she smiled at the expressions of surprise on her family's faces. Soon, confusion overtook the surprise. Her family couldn't think to whom she could possibly be referring. The only "he" James and Victoria had been near had been the Quileute Alpha.

One by one, with the exception of Jasper, her family cast nervous glances at each other as that realization solidified in their minds.

Gray laughed. It started out as a slight chuckle, but soon, she was consumed by laughter. She wanted to disabuse her family of the horrible notion that she had found her mate in one of the Quileute wolves, but she couldn't draw the breath to speak the words. She could only shake her head. Never before had she experienced the roller coaster of emotion she felt today—from mind-numbing horror to giddy euphoria and back again.

Together, Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, Emmett, and Alice exhaled as one.

"Of course, not . . ." Esme began. "Of course, the very idea . . . But, Gray, _who_?"

Jasper smiled at her knowingly, and Gray embraced him.

"Congratulations, milady." Happy as he was for her, he cringed as he said the words. _Darlin', you stink worse 'n a dead polecat in July._

Gray continued to laugh.

"Someone want to fill the rest of us in?" Emmett asked, frustration giving his words an edge.

Gray looked between her parents, Esme first, then Carlisle. "Edward. It's Edward."

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Author's notes:

wiki/Rebel_yell "The rebel yell was a battle cry used by Confederate soldiers during the American Civil War. Confederate soldiers used the yell during charges to intimidate the enemy and boost their own morale . . . The origin of the yell is uncertain, though it is thought to have been influenced either by Native American war cries or a Scottish war cry tradition." The sound of the yell has been described as everything from the scream of a rabbit to that of a cougar to the cry of a banshee. From Wikipedia—"Union Soldiers described the yell with reference to 'a peculiar corkscrew sensation that went up your spine when you heard it' along with the comment that 'if you claim you heard it and weren't scared that means you never heard it.'"

Teasers for chapter six will be posted on Facebook group Pay it Forward, /groups/896806390388220/, in about a week and a half

Hope you liked it! Drop me a review and let me know what you thought!


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

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This story is set in 2012.

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A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

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 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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 _STEPPING FROM SHADOWS_

 _Chapter 6_

 _Hello, beautiful. Remember me?_

There was a small number of personal possessions from her human life Gray'd held on to all these years. Her piano was one of those things. After years of neglect, she sat at it now.

After her announcement, her family hadn't immediately made the connection between the boy they'd discussed the previous night and her newly found mate. It had been the circumstances surrounding Edward—his silent mind, his wolfy stench—that had been foremost in their minds, and those circumstances had been night and day compared to her unexpected revelation that he was her mate.

After hearing herself say his name out loud—the sound of it so charming to her ears—Gray had spent a lovely few moments contemplating the features of her mate's face until that same cherished countenance appeared in Esme's mind, and Gray had a new vantage point, a new angle from which to study it.

"Isn't he handsome, Esme?" she had asked, gushing.

Esme had been surprised, to say the very least, but that surprise soon gave way to overwhelming joy. "Oh! Darling, I think he is the most handsome young man alive!" she'd exclaimed as she'd enveloped Gray gingerly in her arms.

"You do understand now, don't you? Edward is still human—James and Victoria—I couldn't—I had to protect him. What if they'd gone to Forks? If they had found him alone. . . ."

"Of course you had to protect your mate," had been Esme's reply.

" _Still_ human?" had been Rosalie's.

While her family had been as delighted to hear her news as she herself had been to share it, there remained the fact that Edward was human. It was an issue; Gray couldn't deny that. But it was a bigger issue with some than with others.

That Edward would join them seemed so perfectly obvious to Gray, she'd never even stopped to consider it. To leave him human . . . she shuddered at the thought of the risks involved—not just to his safety, but to all her family's. However, as she waited, Gray grew worried. Rosalie had bluntly asked her what if Edward did not want to be changed—or worse, what if he did not return her feelings? Knowing her sister's questions hadn't sprung from any concern for Edward's best interest, Gray hadn't paid her comments any heed at the time, but now her fears preyed upon her. Edward could want nothing to do with her. Gray dropped her head into her hands. What would she do then? For Gray, there was no going back to who she had been yesterday before she'd first set eyes on Edward, nor would she want to were it possible. Her feelings were irrevocable. She would love Edward Swan for as long as she lived. They were also unconditional. She would love Edward regardless of anything and everything else, including his feelings for her.

Gray lifted her head. Giving in to her fears would get her nowhere. She closed her eyes, focusing on the faded remnants of a human memory of her mother sitting beside her on this same bench, her younger self bewitched by her mother's fingers as they flew across the keys. Her clearest memory of that moment was the scent of her mother's perfume, _Narcisse Noir_ , but she also remembered her mother had been wearing a tea dress in a delicate shade of yellow so pale it was almost white. Of what she herself had been wearing, what age she might have been, or what song her mother had been playing, Gray had no idea.

Edward had only been three years old when his mother had died. He likely had no memories of her at all.

Opening her eyes, Gray looked toward the windows and sighed. Although the sky was becoming increasingly cloudy, the sun continued to shine brightly. A jailer, holding her captive.

Patience was something she'd thought she'd mastered, but now she knew that had only been because she'd never truly wanted something before. Any diversion she attempted to distract herself with, if for however short a while, inevitably led back to thoughts of Edward. Time felt interminable—surely it didn't always move this slowly? She could hear the seconds ticking slowly by on every clock in the house, on every wrist watch. Each _tick, tick, tick_ taunted her.

She placed her fingers on the keys. As the first notes of the song rang out, she heard her various family members stop what they were doing and listen. She hadn't played in nearly a decade, but she was perfectly sure-fingered. Her fingers danced along the ivory as the song continued, notes weaving together in perfect harmony. The melody began simply, slowly, before picking up, the tempo increasing.

As the final notes faded away, Rosalie stormed from the house.

 _Don't worry about it_ , came Emmett's reassurance. _She'll come around._

Gray wasn't so sure. She'd been subjected to her sister's feelings on the matter since nearly the very moment the words that Edward was her mate had left her lips.

"It's so good to hear you play again," Esme said from the doorway. "It's been far too long."

Gray looked up. Esme stood with Carlisle behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Gray wanted that. She wanted what the rest of her family had. As she began to play one of her own compositions, her parents entered the room and stood next to her.

"Thank you," Esme said, touching Gray's cheek after the music ended. That particular piece was one Gray had written as a gift for her over fifty years ago.

First Emmett, then Jasper and Alice left the house, giving them privacy, a gesture Gray appreciated. She couldn't pretend Edward's being human didn't affect her whole family. However, it had also affected her when Carlisle had changed Esme for himself, when he'd changed Rosalie, and when he'd changed Emmett for Rosalie. No one had consulted her on any of those occasions.

As Jasper had earlier, both Carlisle and Esme were remembering their first meeting, and Gray was witness to the same event through both Carlisle's perfect memory and Esme's imperfect one.

Esme had been sixteen and had had her entire life in front of her. Carlisle had been almost two hundred and fifty and had been changed forever. Alone and more lonely than ever, he had moved on to the next city, the next identity, within the week.

That city had been Chicago, where one year later, the Honorable Grace Isabella Masen, age eleven, had fallen from her horse and broken her arm.

Many times over the years, Gray had been tempted to ask Carlisle whether he might not have made a different decision had he known the rest of Esme's human life would be neither long nor happy. Now, she was asking herself the reverse—if she could know Edward's life would be the perfect ideal of the white-picket fence and a happy family, what would she do? Could she do what Carlisle had believed he'd been doing for Esme in 1911? Could she walk away?

Without raising her eyes from the ivory keys, she whispered a poem.

"No time hath she to sport and play:

A charmed web she weaves alway.

A curse is on her, if she stay

Her weaving, either night or day,

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be;

Therefore she weaveth steadily,

Therefore no other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott."

Gray sighed. "I am half sick of shadows," she said.

"We do understand, darling." Esme assured her. Both Carlisle and Esme recalled the moment Esme's eyes opened after her change, her brown irises replaced by the vivid scarlet of a newborn vampire but nonetheless filled with awe at the sight of Carlisle, whom she'd never forgotten.

Gray smiled and looked between them. "You have no idea how often you do that," she observed.

"Do what?" both Carlisle and Esme asked.

"Think the same thoughts."

Carlisle and Esme shared a loving glance, and Gray felt a sharp pang deep inside her. Would Edward ever look at her like that?

She raised her hand and let it fall heavily on the keys; a cacophony of random notes rang out and hung heavily in the air. "Rosalie could be right. Edward may want nothing to do with me."

"It was very wrong of Rosalie to say such a thing," Esme attempted to console her.

"That doesn't make it untrue."

Carlisle laid his hand on Gray's now-healed shoulder, and she placed her own hand over his.

Slowly and in a voice as soft as a feather floating through the air, Gray whispered, "After all that is bewitching in the idea of a single and constant attachment, and all that can be said of one's happiness depending entirely on any particular person, it is not meant."

Esme said with a smile, "Ah, but Elinor did marry her Edward in the end."

Gray was afraid to let herself hope for any such outcome. She rose and crossed the room to stand at the window. As the sunlight streaming through the glass fell upon her skin, it cast rainbows against the wall as if to highlight the difference between Edward and her.

She turned from the window, and the colors vanished. "The fish swimming just below the surface of the water does not fall in love with the eagle diving toward it with its talons extended. The lamb does not fall in love with the lion."

"Then it's a good thing you are neither of those things. You are not a mindless predator," Carlisle insisted sharply. "You are a thinking, rational, compassionate, moral being. You have a kind heart and a sharp mind and a loving soul. You are not defined by your diet."

Gray was silent for several seconds. Carlisle's words had moved her deeply. "Thanks, Dad," she whispered.

However, as sincere as she knew his words to have been, Gray knew there were other girls out there, human girls, who had kind hearts and sharp minds and loving souls. Girls who, even if they could never love Edward as much as she did, could walk down the street with him on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

Who could give him children, who could grow old with him.

"But none of those things mean I'm the one who could make him the happiest. Edward is human." _As Rosalie has reminded me repeatedly_ , Gray thought to herself with not a little resentment. "A human girl can give him things I cannot."

"I remember one particular human girl who fought like a wildcat for what she wanted." Images of her as a human filled Carlisle's mind, and Gray saw herself as she once was. A fiercely determined seventeen-year-old arguing with her parents that her being a girl would not bar her from serving her country during a time of war, that other women were serving in the military as nurses and that that was exactly what she intended to do as soon as she turned eighteen. Younger, at age fifteen, standing her ground and arguing—arms taut at her sides and fists clenched in fine white gloves—with a man three times her age in favor of women's suffrage following a large rally. Younger still, age eleven at their first meeting, indignant through the pain of her broken arm at having been made to ride sidesaddle.

"What happened to that girl, I wonder? She would never have allowed anyone to make her doubt herself."

"I like to think that over the past ninety-three years she'd learned a little about humility and that she isn't always right."

 _Lessons some others would do well to learn_ , her parents sighed to themselves in unison, both thinking of Rosalie.

"Grace, listen to me. This young man is your mate," Carlisle said, speaking plainly and using her real name. Taking Esme's hand in his, he continued with only the slightest hesitation during which Gray heard what he was about to say before he spoke it out loud. She suppressed a gasp. "I know the folly of believing it would only be your own happiness you would be sacrificing by walking away, because it's a mistake I made myself. Don't make that same mistake."

Carlisle couldn't repress the memory of the terrible moment he saw Esme for the second time: dying, her body so badly broken the humans believed her to already be dead. He shivered, the tremor running through his entire body.

As if she could read his thoughts as clearly as Gray could, Esme slid her arms around him. "You need to stop blaming yourself, my darling. You could not have known." She kissed him gently.

The events of that morning replayed through Gray's mind, but they didn't unfold in her head the way they had in reality. In her head, she saw any number of scenarios, all ending the same way. James and Victoria, killing first the Alpha and his mate and then the second wolf. Drunk with the excitement of his game, James ran toward Forks, intent on finding more of the creatures, but being led by the second wolf's scent straight to a cream-colored split level with a backyard that ended at the edge of the forest.

Gray growled and sprang to her feet. It was not in the nature of her kind to pace or fidget, but she stalked from one end of the room to the other like a caged panther.

Concern was written all over her parents' faces and flooded their minds. Carlisle silently apologized to her for not blocking his thoughts better. That was typical Carlisle—she was the one invading his mind, but he was the one apologizing for not guarding his thoughts more closely.

 _I didn't mean to suggest that anything even remotely close to that happening to your young man was at all likely_ , he tried to reassure her.

"Not at all likely," Gray whispered absently. She closed her eyes. "Don't you see? If he remains human, it isn't only likely, it's an absolute certainty. That man who died on the highway yesterday—just moments before he set off to wherever it was he was going, how great would you have said the likelihood of his dying before the end of the day was? Extremely slim? But that was exactly what happened. Humans die. Every day. The chances of one particular human dying on one particular day may be remote, but that every one of them will die someday is an absolute certainty."

Statistics flooded Gray's mind. Edward was an athlete. How many seemingly perfectly healthy young athletes died suddenly of previously undetected heart problems every year? Very few, but the possibility of it happening was enough that it had prompted just about every school district everywhere to require a medical clearance for all athletes.

Accidents were much more commonplace. He could fall and hit his head. How many humans died every day from head injuries? Or traffic accidents. Just last night she'd worried Edward might have been in an accident when his father had arrived home but he had not been with him. Or household accidents. He could fall down the stairs. Or fire. _Just how good is the wiring in his house?_

Or he could get sick. Gray remembered patients from her most recent medical residency. She remembered the cancer patients, stroke patients, the patients waiting on transplant lists. She worried about reports she'd read about superbugs, resistant to modern antibiotics. Her own human life had ended due to an epidemic modern medicine of her time had been utterly helpless against. Who knew when the next epidemic might come, or if today's world would be any better prepared for it than hers had been?

"Edward is dying. Every day his death gets one day closer. He could be sick right now. Cells could be mutating inside him right now. A potentially life-threatening tumor could be forming, one could already be growing inside him, and no one knows it."

Her parents held her tightly. Their eyes met over her shoulder. It was a horrible for them to see their normally self-controlled daughter in such a state.

Gray knew her father's views on changing Edward as well as she knew Rosalie's. In spite of his reservations, she knew him well enough to know that ultimately, if she asked him outright, he would change Edward for her, if for no other reason than to protect her. He'd be afraid that if he refused, she would attempt it herself and possibly fail. She also knew that deep down he would never forgive himself for ending a human life before its time.

And who knew if Edward himself would ever forgive her? Lord knew Rosalie still hadn't. Not fully, not even after she'd found Emmett.

 _Great. Fucking Swan's coming._

Suddenly, an unknown voice grabbed Gray's attention, pulling her from her internal agonizing. She broke free from her parents' arms and rushed to the window, her face alight with joy whereas only a moment ago it had been a mask of utter despair.

"He's coming!" she exclaimed.

Her parents shared a glance before Esme asked, "Who is coming?" They couldn't think of anyone who could elicit such a reaction from her other than Edward himself, but that he would be coming to their home was inconceivable. It wasn't likely that any of the residents of Forks were even aware the house tucked deep in the woods they'd all driven past numerous times existed.

Gray laughed. She had been inconsolable seconds before, but now, she was exuberant. "Edward, of course!" At her parents' looks of matching incredulity, she clarified, "There are a number of local teenagers at a small lake not far away. He's joining them." Her expression darkened. "However, not all of them seem pleased to see his truck pulling into the parking lot." It was nothing but minor teenage jealousy, but the unknown boy continued grumbling to himself about Edward's arrival. _Thought he was working at the store today_ , he mentally whined. The boy's thoughts turned to a girl in a cleavage-revealing tank top sunning herself at a picnic table nearby.

Gray raised her eyes to the sky. "Oh, this sun!" It was intolerable! Edward was so close and yet so far!

As the girl in the low cut tank top watched Edward exit his pickup truck, her thoughts took a turn that made the floor fall from beneath Gray. Her feet carried her toward the door without her mind forming the conscious thought, but as suddenly as despair had gripped her, relief replaced it and she sagged against the door frame. Upon seeing Edward, the girl's thoughts had been overtly sexually predatory. She'd pressed her arms close to her sides, pushing her breasts together and amplifying her already curvaceous bust line, and she wiggled her shoulders. She was very pleased with how she looked as Edward exited his truck, and she thought to herself, _If Edward's here, maybe Jacob will show up._

Gray mentally sighed in relief.

"It seems one of the local girls has set her cap at the second wolf," she explained to her parents. "For a moment, I was afraid—when she saw Edward arrive, the line her thoughts took—but it was nothing. He's a link to the one she wants, nothing more."

Only yesterday, Gray would have rolled her eyes at the thoughts she heard from the group of teenagers gathered together. All the boy whose thoughts had originally grabbed her attention could think about was the girl in the tank top, who could only think of the Quileute boy. But now, having a first-hand understanding of the pain and frustration, the utter misery of the fear that the one you loved might not love you in return, she empathized with them.

She slid down the door jamb and sat on the floor. Physically, she was strong enough to level a city block, but emotionally, she was exhausted. She'd spent nearly a hundred years having the lustful thoughts people entertained regarding her family members and herself forced upon her, but now she was realizing she would have to endure others thinking about her mate like that.

In addition to the group of teenagers, others were scattered around: families with small children, older men with rods and tackle doing more talking than fishing. Their thoughts were typical and mundane; more than one person bemoaned the increasing clouds. Regardless of what trivialities their minds held, from one and all what they were thinking came through to her as clearly as if they were standing beside her and speaking out loud.

All, that was, except Edward.

Just as last night, Gray heard absolutely nothing of what Edward was thinking. If she had dared to hope that maybe recognizing just how much he meant to her would act as some sort of magical key that unlocked his mind to her, she'd have been disappointed.

"Oh, what I wouldn't give to know what he was thinking!" Gray closed her eyes and dropped her head back against the wall.

Esme smoothed an errant strand of hair away from Gray's face. "Don't be so quick to wish away a gift."

"A gift?" Gray questioned skeptically. The internal drivel of every sentient being within three miles was forced upon her every minute of every day, but now that she'd found the one whose thoughts were precious to her, she was completely deaf. She hardly considered that a gift.

"You no longer need be alone to have your mind to yourself. With your Edward, you have found both your mate and your match. Don't you think it is too much of a coincidence that the only one who can fully keep you out just happens to be your mate? An ability that has been woven into his ancestry for generations, as if by Providence, and strengthened as it passed from one to the next so that by the time he was born he possessed a gift of his own strong enough to stand up against yours?"

Gray considered Esme's words. "Do you really think so?"

"I'm certain of it," Esme said with the unshakable conviction of a mother unable to entertain the idea that someone might not love her child.

"But, what if I say something wrong and ruin everything? How will I know what to say to him if I don't know what he's thinking?"

Carlisle offered simply, "Start with 'Hello,' and go from there."

Gray appreciated her father's attempt to help, but he didn't understand. She looked at him and struggled to crack a smile. They couldn't understand what it was like to suddenly be without one of their senses. Gray was as dependent upon her second hearing every bit as much as others were on their ears and eyes. For her, being faced with someone whose mind was silent to her and trying to get to know that person would be like anyone else trying to do so while only hearing every other word the person spoke—half of what was being said would be missed.

The only two who could understand were Alice and Jasper, and Gray was glad to hear their minds moments later as they returned to the house.

Alice's mind was focused on Gray's wardrobe, going through every piece of clothing she owned, mentally visualizing, judging, and discarding one after another. Gray rolled her eyes. In Alice's mind, there was no problem that couldn't be solved with the right attire.

Alice directed her thoughts to her. _I know you can hear me, sister dear, and you can stop rolling your eyes—I know you are. You only get one chance to make a first impression._ _You want to look nice when you meet your mate, don't you?_

But Gray had already had that one chance and had blown it. _What must he think of me? I must have looked half insane. Why couldn't I have said something?_

"Alice and Jasper are on their way back," she said to her parents. As Gray listened to her sister plan what she should wear, her eyebrows knit together. The moment the sun was safely behind the clouds, nothing would stop her from going directly to Edward, but the clothing Alice was considering was hardly what one would wear for a day at a lake.

 _Perhaps he will leave before the sun goes behind the clouds, and I'll have to go into Forks to find him?_

That hardly seemed likely, though. Gray concentrated on the mental voices of those closest to Edward. He had a rod and tackle box with him, and the girl in the tank top watched him as he put his belongings on a nearby picnic table.

 _Such a pity_ , the girl thought to herself _._

Gray's eyes narrowed. She did not like the predatory way the girl's gaze ran over Edward. She wondered what the girl's thoughts had meant. _What's a pity?_

The girl asked Edward whether his friend Jacob was coming.

It was irrational, but Gray felt a bolt of jealousy rock her that this girl got to speak to Edward. She got to be near him in the sun, while Gray was forced to hide away. She got to hear his voice, while all Gray could do was eavesdrop as best she could.

More than one of the girls gave a wistful mental sigh as various images, all shirtless, of the second wolf in his human form appeared in their minds. The boys' thoughts were acrimonious, several accusing Jacob and a number of others of using steroids to get that big.

The girl learned she would be disappointed. Edward answered that Jacob had been supposed to meet him at his house but never showed and had not answered his texts. That did not surprise Gray. After that morning's events, Jacob would surely be unavailable for an afternoon of fishing. She could only imagine the scene playing out on the small reservation at that moment.

Edward appeared to be in a pensive mood. He didn't join in their idle chatter, and his expression was a million miles away. One of the group called his name twice before he answered. Was he thinking about his friend? How did he feel about Jacob not meeting him as they'd planned? Was he angry? Worried?

A girl whose mind Gray found to be particularly kind was thinking about Edward's father. _It had to have been horrible, telling Mrs. Varner about her husband_. She inquired after the senior Swan. "It must have been terrible," she said with genuine sympathy, which was contradicted by the morbid curiosity piqued to varying degrees in the rest of the company.

Edward didn't respond immediately, and the girl worried she shouldn't have brought it up until he slowly nodded his head, responding simply, "He didn't talk too much about it."

Gray wondered if he was aware his friends had hoped for details. Although there was disappointment, there was no surprise. Was that one small piece of the puzzle that was her mate? He was not prone to gossip.

Judging by their thoughts, the conversation between the small group of friends turned awkward after the mention of the man who had died. Convention dictated that one did not speak ill of the dead, but it was clear to Gray that the late Mr. Varner had been a particularly unpopular teacher.

Alice entered the house like a hurricane-force wind battering down the door. "Look at you!" she exclaimed at Gray in frustration. "You haven't even begun to dress! What am I going to do with you?"

"I tried to rein her in, but she wasn't having it," Jasper said as he followed his wife into the room.

Alice took Gray by the hand and led her upstairs. "Esme, you take care of her hair while I—"

"I hardly think the black suede Jimmy Choo pumps are appropriate, Alice," Gray said, cutting her sister off as she worked out what Gray would wear.

"What are you talking about?" Alice asked in exasperation. "They're simple but elegant. The heel isn't too high. They're perfect for—"

"A hike through the woods?"

Alice stopped in her tracks. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. The suggestion of wearing the designer shoes in the muddy and rocky terrain of the forest was an affront to her senses.

"Edward is at a nearby lake with a group of local teenagers. I think we can agree that the shoes would be out of place in such a setting, yes?" Gray asked innocently.

"And you plan on going there to meet him?" Alice asked, looking surprised and more than a little uneasy.

"Of course."

"You're certain? You're determined to go there?"

"Yes."

"Why did I not see this?" Alice asked, her anxious gaze darting from one person to the next.

Jasper wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders and drew her against his chest.

Gray sought to console her sister, although she wondered that same thing herself. "You can hardly be expected to see every move every one of us plans to make, Alice."

"This hardly falls under the category of mundane decisions. I should have seen this. Why didn't I see this? I couldn't see Carlisle's meeting with the Alpha. I didn't see you fighting James and Victoria this morning. I didn't see this." Alice looked from Jasper to Carlisle and back. "I don't like this. I don't like this at all."

Gray understood her sister's uneasiness. Never before had their abilities been rendered useless, and it was incredibly off-putting. It was like running through a minefield blindfolded.

Alice narrowed her eyes and focused her mind on Gray, but there was nothing there. Just like the empty spot in her own mind where Edward's thoughts should be, Gray could see in her sister's mind that her future was missing. Alice's distress was growing rapidly; Jasper could feel it and Gray could hear it. Their eyes met before returning to Alice.

"It means nothing," Gray insisted.

"What means nothing?" Carlisle asked urgently. The wound left behind by that morning's events was still raw and easily reopened.

"You're gone," Alice said, her eyes wide and fixed on Gray. "I can't see you at all. You're just gone."

Esme gripped Gray's arm as if afraid some new, unknown threat would appear out of nowhere to rip her away from them. Carlisle moved to her side.

"What do you see, Alice?" Jasper asked.

"Nothing. I don't see anything happening. I just don't see Gray at all. It's as if she simply doesn't exist anymore."

Alice was quiet as she focused on the futures of the rest of their family—Carlisle and Esme, Rosalie and Emmett, Jasper and herself—she could see them all. But when she searched for Gray, nothing.

The idea had formed in Gray's mind yesterday that maybe Alice was simply too far out of tune from the wolves to see anything involving them, but as Jasper had pointed out, that theory didn't explain why she hadn't been able to see Carlisle's meeting with them. Her brother and sister and she weren't the only vampires to possess gifts. Several of the vampires her family knew had a wide range of special abilities, both defensive and offensive. It wasn't out of the question that the Quileute wolves might be similarly gifted themselves. Her family knew of the mental telepathy the pack shared while in their wolf forms because Gray had heard them, but they could very well possess other gifts her family was unaware of.

"It has to be the wolves," Gray said as much to herself as to her family.

"Oh, hang the wolves! What have they got to do with anything!" Alice exclaimed in frustration.

"Everything, unfortunately, I'm afraid. You couldn't see Carlisle's meeting with the wolves, and you couldn't see what happened this morning because one of the wolves was involved."

"That doesn't explain why I can't see you now."

"Edward possesses some sort of mental shield that prevents me from hearing what he's thinking. The wolves must have a shield of their own, but rather than blocking their thoughts from being heard, it blocks their futures from being seen. Except, it isn't only the wolves themselves you can't see, but anything—or anyone—connected to them. Edward is friends with at least one of the wolves. If his future is entangled with his friend's, which it likely is to at least some degree, and if I'm right, then you won't be able to see that future. You can't see me either because my future is now irrevocably bound to his." _Whether he ever returns my feelings or not_ , Gray finished silently.

Jasper studied Gray for several seconds before nodding his head. "It makes sense. But I'd feel better with confirmation from Eleazar," he said, referring to one of their Denali cousins who was gifted with the ability to sense special abilities in others, both human and vampire.

"Let us hope the wolves are not also able to shield themselves from him," Carlisle said.

Gray bit her lip. The minutes until the sun would be safely behind the clouds were ticking away slowly but surely, and while she wasn't nearly as concerned with fashion as either of her sisters or Esme, Alice was right; she did want to look nice when she saw Edward again. This wouldn't be the first time they met, but it would be the first time they spoke. "Alice? Help me? I have no idea what to wear."

.

"Tell him you want to have wild monkey sex with him."

Gray could hear the grin in Emmett's voice and in his thoughts. If she could blush, she'd be bright red. He and Rosalie had returned home a short while ago, and he was enjoying himself at her expense far too much.

"Ignore the Neanderthal," Alice quipped as she stood in front of Gray's closet, holding up two sweaters. Beside her, Esme held up two more for Alice's inspection.

"I'm serious," Emmett joked. "Swinging from chandeliers, the whole nine yards. You want to get a man's attention—that is the way to do it. Tell him you want to get naked and press up against him."

Downstairs in the garage, the metal doors of Rosalie's tool chest slammed shut with such force, Gray winced. Apart from Emmett's repeated mental promise she would come around, the rest of the family pretended not to have heard.

Wrapped in a silk robe, Gray sat on her sofa, nervous energy making her legs bounce. She itched to throw open the doors to the small balcony off her room and race into the woods that would lead her to Edward. Sitting and waiting was agonizing. Her eyes flittered to the window. The closer the encroaching clouds came to blocking out the sun, the longer each second seemed to last. It was surreal, sitting there listening to Emmett's teasing and watching Esme and Alice debate over what she should wear. She was going to be with her mate soon. Soon, she would be able to stand in front of him, to talk to him, to hear his voice with her own ears. After being alone for ninety-four years, there was no describing how she felt. The anticipation was torturous.

Outside her door, her father and brothers awaited her. Her brothers and Alice had already announced their intention to go with her—it would seem far more natural for them to go exploring together than for Gray to go alone, Jasper had pointed out.

 _Yes_ , Alice decided as she held one sweater higher than the other.

With a teasing tone to her voice, her eyebrow arched Gray questioned, "Gray, Alice?"

The sweater Alice had settled on was a cropped, two-toned, dove gray and taupe cashmere-merino wool blend.

"Hush, you. The colors both contrast your eyes and compliment the warm tones in your hair, and the length gives a little glimpse of your figure." _Really, Gray—you have better curves than Rosalie, if you would just make the most of them._

Gray bristled.

 _I know, I know,_ Alice sighed. _A woman's worth should not be measured by the same tape measure as her waist. That doesn't mean you can't flaunt what you've got at least a little._

Alice tossed her the sweater. "Now dress."

Dutifully, Gray did as told, pairing the sweater with the dark colored skinny jeans and navy blue Asolo hiking boots Alice had already selected.

Untucking her hair from her sweater, Gray looked at her mother and Alice. Nervous, she bit her bottom lip. "Well? How do I look?" she asked.

"Beautiful," both responded.

"Well, let us see, then," Carlisle called from the hallway.

It meant the world to Gray that, in spite of their differences of opinion on whether Edward should be changed, her family was united in their happiness for her.

 _Well, all except for Rosalie, at least_ , Gray thought with an unexpected amount of real regret. She and Rosalie had never been close. Their personalities had always clashed, even when Rosalie had still been human. Given that, it surprised Gray how much she wanted her sister's approval.

Esme opened her door, and Gray stepped out of her room as Alice dramatically announced, complete with a wave of her hand and a curtsy, "Gentlemen, I present to you the future Mrs. Edward Swan."

Gray laughed, but she swallowed hard and dropped her eyes to the floor. _Mrs. Edward Swan,_ she thought dreamily before laughing at herself. _I'm as bad as a twelve-year-old with a crush._

"Cinderella would be jealous," Carlisle said.

Gray tucked her hair behind her ears.

 _Cinderella in hiking boots_ , thought Emmett with a grin.

Gray rolled her eyes.

 _I especially like the way the colors contrast your eyes and compliment the warm tones in your hair_ , he silently teased.

"A Southern belle," Jasper said with a bow. "Pity my eyes ain't sore, darlin', 'cuz you'd be a sight for 'em."

"A Southern belle—from Yankee territory?" Gray questioned, her eyebrow arched.

"We'll overlook it just this once. Can't help where you were born, now can you?"

"No more than you can," she responded with a smirk. Jasper and she regularly traded barbs, and the familiarity of it was calming to her overly excited nerves.

"Sometimes a person wins the roll of the dice."

"Yes, sometimes she does."

Jasper smiled and extended his arm. "Allow me to escort you, milady?"

Gray rested her hand on her brother's arm, saying in a well-bred Southern accent à laScarlet O'Hara, "Why, thank you ever so kindly, Major." With her other hand, she flicked him on the forehead and continued in a voice more in line with Ma Kettle, "But I done told you before, I ain't no lady."

From the garage, Rosalie harrumphed. Gray dropped her eyes.

 _Don't mind her. She is happy for you,_ Emmett assured her.

Gray cast him a disbelieving look.

"Ready to do this?" Emmett asked her out loud, rubbing his hands together.

"Yes. Okay. Yes . . . let's go." Gray took two steps forward but hesitated. This was really happening. All the waiting—both over the decades and that afternoon—was nearly over. Every moment of her life had led to this. Every day she'd spent waiting for Edward had brought her one step closer to him. "Oh, God." She placed one hand on her stomach, and with the other she gripped Jasper's arm. "This is real. This is really happening. What do I say? How do I act? What if he doesn't like me?" It was no exaggeration to say that the rest of her life depended on how the next few hours went—good or bad. She was more afraid than she'd ever been before.

"You say hello, and you don't _act_ at all. You just _be_ ," Esme said.

 _Don't act. Just be. Don't act. Just be,_ she repeated to herself obediently. Except Gray didn't know how to just _be_ around humans. Every moment with them was an act. It was all she knew.

"It's the person you are who Edward is going to fall in love with, not the façade you present to the world. Just be yourself."

 _But what if he doesn't? What if he doesn't fall in love with me? What if he's afraid of me? What if he wants nothing to do with me?_

"Enough already!" Rosalie exclaimed from the garage. "Do you think you're facing something unique, something no one has ever faced before? We've all been afraid our mate wouldn't want us. You're no different. You want him? Then go get him. Show him why he should love you, and stop this whining."

Her family, even Emmett, was displeased with Rosalie's lack of tact, but before they could speak, Gray nodded her head and stood straighter. The rest of her family was treating her fears with kid gloves, but Rosalie told her how it was without holding back. It was exactly what Gray needed. She inhaled deeply. "Right. Okay. Let's go. Let's go do this." _Let's go get my mate_ , she added to herself with determination.

 _That's the ticket! Let's get this show on the road! Let's get this party started! Let's blow this popsicle stand!_ _Woohoohoo! This train is leaving the station!_ Emmett shouted mentally with the exuberance of a sugared-up five-year-old.

Gray shook her head at him, but she grinned. Emmett could always be counted upon to make one smile.

"Rosalie . . . would you like to come with us?" Gray asked.

Pausing in her work, Rosalie responded, "No, thank you."

Gray was disappointed but not surprised.

 _It's not that I don't want to see you happy_ , Rosalie told her. _I'm glad you've found your mate. Truly, I am. Just—don't make any rash decisions you can't take back,_ she pled with surprising sincerity. With that, Rosalie returned her attention to the 1941 Packard Clipper she was refurbishing. As Gray descended the stairs, she glanced in the direction of the garage. The tone of Rosalie's thoughts had been unlike her.

Esme linked their arms together.

 _You are going to knock his socks off. He isn't going to know what hit him._

Once outside, Gray glanced at the sky. The cloud cover was increasing rapidly now, a fact a number of the voices droning on and on in her head lamented. If she and her siblings walked through the woods at a near-human pace, the sun would be completely obscured from view by the time they arrived at the lake.

 _Or if we run, I can at least be near him that much longer, if not with him._ Gray daydreamed about what Edward's hair would look like with the sun streaming down on it.

"Wish me luck."

With that, she leapt gracefully over the railing on the back deck and took off toward the woods in a full sprint, leaving her siblings to follow after her.

 _I'll contact the Denalis while you're gone_ , Carlisle told her.

Lake Pleasant was long and narrow, set at a southwest to northeast diagonal. At the time of their first residence in the area, it had been entirely encircled by the forest, but now, the trees bordering the southernmost third had been cleared and the land developed into a small recreational park. Gray arrived several seconds before her siblings, and she settled, safely concealed in the shelter of the trees along the north coast. She swallowed. Her fingers gripped the tree she hid behind, sinking into the wood. _Edward_ . . . The air left her lungs and she stood breathless for several seconds, never blinking, never moving, only watching.

 _Oh_. . . .

Gray spoke dozens of languages fluently, but the only thought her mind could produce at that moment was "Oh." She was utterly spellbound by the sight of Edward. He stood apart from his friends, a few feet away. He had a fishing rod in his hands, and she watched as he cast his line. He was beautiful.

"How is she?" Alice asked Jasper with a grin in her voice as her siblings joined her.

"Euphoric," Jasper responded as he pulled his own mate close to him. The joy Gray felt was contagious.

Emmett came up behind her and hunched over her, placing his head directly next to hers, his chin on her shoulder.

"So, which one is he, then?" he asked.

Gray barely heard him, too mesmerized by the sight of Edward to respond. The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. She'd been right; Edward's hair gleamed like polished bronze in the sun.

"The tall one, standing off by himself," Jasper responded.

Gray didn't pull her eyes from Edward, but she turned her head a fraction of an inch toward Jasper in question.

"Pulled his DMV picture."

"Oh, Gray! Oh, he's so handsome!" Alice exclaimed with a squeal, clasping her hands together in front of her.

He was, Gray agreed. He really was.

Her smile widened.

"Gotta say, I'm likin' the shirt." Emmett laughed. _It's like he knew you were coming._

Edward wore a flannel plaid shirt, unbuttoned, over a t-shirt bearing the cartoonish image of a chili pepper and the words "Bite Me."

"I want to get closer," Gray said.

Unfortunately, getting closer meant first moving farther away. To get nearer to the small park meant an almost two mile dash through the forest surrounding the northern portion of the lake, but that was an insignificant obstacle, and the distance was covered in hardly any time at all. Gray took up her new position scarcely the length of a football field away from her mate. At this short a distance, voices could be heard easily. Edward's friends talked and laughed, but he himself did not join in.

 _What is he thinking!_ Gray agonized. He was turned partially away from her; his face was only visible in profile. His countenance, from what she could see, appeared troubled. There was tension in the set of his jaw and in his forehead. His eyes were fixed, looking ahead, but they did not appear to be resting on the spot where his float bobbed on the water's surface.

The girl in the tank top approached him, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. That her thoughts were filled with various images of the young Quileute man called Jacob—all shirtless—did not stop a rumble from beginning to vibrate deep in Gray's chest. She did not like this girl being near Edward.

 _Whoa! Down, girl!_ warned Emmett.

Gray shook herself. Controlling herself when other girls even just spoke to her mate was going to be a challenge.

"Too bad about the sun," the girl said.

Edward looked upward at the encroaching clouds and shrugged his shoulders. He hummed noncommittally, but did not speak.

"So," the girl purred in what she believed to be an alluring tone that set Gray's teeth on edge, "what's Jacob up to these days?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Edward answered tersely.

Gray swooned. She was ashamed to admit it, but she did. Hearing Edward speak made her knees week. He had such a strong, deep voice, rich and melodious and perfect. She sighed dreamily. Her siblings all laughed at her, uncontrollable belly laughs. Emmett in particular was doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"Go play with matches, all of you," she said.

Gray might not be able to hear Edward's thoughts, but there could be little doubt he was displeased. With what, though? That was what Gray wanted to know. Was it the girl's presence that irritated him or her question?

Internally, the girl cursed the denseness of boys in general and Edward in particular in distinctly unladylike language.

Gray's lips curled threateningly. She took a step forward.

Emmett's huge hand gripped her arm—not too hard, but hard enough. _No killing the_ _humans_ , he heard the smirk in his next thought. _No rule against giving them a good scare when they deserve it, though._ He recalled the countless human males he'd sent scurrying after they'd said something inappropriate regarding Rosalie.

"He couldn't be less interested in her," Jasper assured her.

Gray nodded in agreement—as much to Emmett as Jasper.

"Nor she in him," Gray said. "It's his friend, Jacob, she's after."

Emmett laughed. "The mutt? Hope he's housebroken."

Edward didn't add anything to his statement, and the girl tried in vain to think of how to draw information on the object of her affections from her reticent classmate.

"Infernal, insipid girl!" complained Gray.

"Such language," teased Emmett. "My ears are burning."

Emmett's study of foreign languages was limited to sexual innuendo, _double entendres_ , and swearing, and he considered it his life's goal to make Gray curse. If he had heard her as she'd raced toward James and Victoria, he'd have been proud.

The girl trying to coax information from Edward tried a different approach. She changed the subject, thinking if she could get Edward talking about something else first, she could then ask him about Jacob again.

"I'm so excited for prom. Aren't you?" she asked animatedly. "Gatsby! So romantic . . . and so glamorous!" The girl looked out toward the lake, but her eyes peeked sideways at Edward. "Have you asked anyone yet?"

For the first time, Edward's manner changed. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. A dread-filled expression haunted his eyes.

Gray's fingers clenched, digging out great chunks of wood from the tree in front of her.

"No," Edward answered reluctantly. He did not look at the girl.

Gray released a breath.

"Why not?"

After several seconds, Edward answered, "There aren't any girls at school I'm interested in."

Gray nearly jumped for joy.

The girl rolled her eyes. _Yeah, no kidding_ , she thought to herself with not a small amount of resentment.

"You could ask someone to go just as friends, you know." The girl's eyes flitted toward the group of their friends a few feet away. A blond boy with spiked hair—the boy whose thoughts had originally caught her attention, Gray now knew—watched them carefully, wanting to join them but trying to think of something cool to say first. The girl barely noticed him, and not in the least in the way he wished. "It would be a good idea, you know? Ask someone, just as friends. I know a lot of girls who'd jump at the chance."

 _One of the best looking guys at school—such a waste!_ she lamented.

For the first time, Edward turned his attention fully to the girl. His eyebrows drew together.

"A good idea?"

She made an impatient face. "You know what I mean."

Edward slowly shook his head. "No, I don't."

Gray growled in frustration. "Can this foolish girl not see he does not wish to speak to her?"

"Got that without hearing his thoughts, did you?" Alice teased.

Gray ignored her.

"Or, it wouldn't have to be someone from school," the girl in the tank top went on to say, oblivious to Edward's lack of interest in the conversation. "You could ask someone from La Push. You've got a lot of friends there, don't you?"

"Um, yeah. _Guy_ friends."

Gray's frustration growing, she exclaimed, "And, I realize the sun was forecast to stay out all day, but that top she has on—or barely has on! Was she expecting the thermometer to reach one hundred?"

Her siblings hid their grins. It had not been hopes of one hundred degree weather that had influenced what the girl wore, they were sure.

How much longer could this torment go on! Gray looked at the sky and groaned. She rested her forehead against the trunk of the tree in front of her in impatience.

 _Not too much longer_ , Alice assured her. She remembered all the years she'd waited for Jasper, knowing he was out there somewhere. Twenty-eight years Alice had waited. Gray sighed. She could wait until the sun went behind the clouds.

The girl's thoughts turned excited as the conversation turned back to the topic she'd wanted. "Have you been out to La Push lately?"

"Drove out yesterday after school."

The girl was just about to ask about Jacob again when the blond boy finally worked up the nerve to approach the two. "Biting any better over here?" he asked, his fishing rod in his hand but not a single thought of fishing in his head.

"I recognize him," Jasper said, referring to the blond boy. "He was working at the store I went into yesterday."

The girl was anything but pleased he'd joined them, and it showed in her face and body language. The boy's hopes plummeted.

"Not a bite," Edward said. He appeared both relieved and ill at ease. Did he suspect his classmate's hostile thoughts regarding him?

"Edward was just saying he drove out to La Push after school yesterday," the girl told the newcomer.

 _Pity he didn't stay there,_ came the boy's spiteful thoughts. "No offense, man. But that friend of yours out there? Sure bulked up pretty fast." _Wonder how._

Gray watched Edward's reaction. His grip on his pole tightened, and the muscles in his jaw twitched.

"I mean, kind of strange getting that big that fast. Don't you think?"

"No. I don't," Edward said stiffly in defense of his friend. "His father's big. So are a lot of guys on the rez. It's in their genes."

"He's worried," Jasper said. "And he's lying."

Gray nodded her head in agreement. She didn't need to hear Edward's thoughts to know he was lying. The signs were clear as day. She just wished she knew about what exactly. The blond boy believed Edward's friend was using steroids. Did Edward worry that was the cause?

Or . . . No, it couldn't be. He couldn't be aware of the true reason some of the men on the nearby reservation were so big.

 _It's in their genes_.

Could he?

"He's very protective of his friend," Jasper observed.

Gray nodded her head again. It relieved her tremendously to hear from Jasper's thoughts that while Edward was defensive of his friend and was lying about something, nothing about his emotions suggested he was guarding a secret.

"It seems to be generally believed that the Quileutes are using steroids, and that that is how some of them get so big," she said. "Perhaps Edward fears the same but does not want to admit it."

Feeling left out of the conversation, the girl said, "I heard that Whitney said that Ashley said that Katie said that one of the new girls came in last night with a woman."

The effect of the girl's words on Edward was immediate and unmistakable. His emotions changed dramatically, from anxious and defensive to excited. His breath caught. His heart rate increased. Pink tinged his cheeks.

Jasper grinned at Gray. He read attraction from Edward, and not a little embarrassment, but nothing negative. "I think it's safe to say he's not repulsed by you."

From the girl, however, he read jealousy so strong that where Edward's cheeks were pink, hers should have been green. The girl spoke in a self-important tone, clearly enjoying spreading what she considered the newest gossip in town despite her resentment. "I heard Eric thinks she's pretty hot." She laughed. "He was practically _drooling_. Poor Katie's crushed."

Gray seethed. "I'd like to dangle that girl from the top of the Space Needle by her throat."

"What did you think of her, Edward?" the girl asked in an artificially coy tone of voice. "I heard you were there, too. Did you think she was pretty?" She wriggled her eyebrows as she looked at him.

"And the cat claws come out," Emmett joked.

Gray waited for Edward's response, but he did not answer immediately.

Jasper read strong protective emotions from him, almost as strong as when the blond boy had suggested his friend had put on muscle suspiciously fast. "Nope. Definitely not repulsed by you," he confirmed.

"She's very pretty," Edward said finally.

"I heard the woman with her was barely twenty-five. Had to be her step-mother," the girl in the tank top said as if scandalized. "Father's a doctor. Must like 'em young. Wonder what number wife this one is."

"Gray's adopted," Edward said in a clipped tone of voice and looking directly at the girl for only the second time. "She and her sister are both adopted. Mrs. Cullen's niece and nephew live with them, too. Both Dr. Cullen and his wife are young."

"Her name's _Gray_?" the girl asked with a laugh.

Edward looked about to say something else, but before he could a new girl drifted from one group to the other. "Oh, are you talking about the Cullens?" she asked. This girl was thin and particularly tall, close to six feet certainly, although her true height was hard to gauge as she stood with her shoulders hunched as if trying to make herself look not as tall as she was. She had smooth, honey-toned skin and long dark hair and equally dark eyes hidden behind glasses.

"I met her last night," Alice said "Her name is Angela. She was working at the market at the checkout. She asked me if I was a member of the new family in town and welcomed me very sweetly."

Gray studied the girl as she recounted the same meeting to her friends. This was the girl whose caring thoughts she had noted earlier. "Her thoughts are particularly kind," she observed, her head tilted to the side as she listened to the girl. She related the girl's thoughts regarding them to her siblings. This girl did not talk about Gray's family as nothing but the newest gossip as the other girl did; she spoke of them as a source of interest but with consideration, thinking how difficult it must be being new in a place like Forks, where most of the people in town had known each other all their lives. As a rule, Gray and her family did not take much notice of the humans whose lives briefly intersected theirs. Friendships weren't advisable. But there was something about this girl's mind that drew Gray in. Her thoughts were so gentle in nature, they were comforting.4

"She's a very gentle creature," Jasper said, verbalizing what Gray had just been thinking.

Angela finished telling her friends of her meeting with a member of the new family in town. "Her name is Alice."

Not to be left out, the blond boy recounted his meeting with Jasper. "Dude was kinda creepy," he said with a slight shiver, as if a chill had run down his spine. "Spent a shit load of money, though."

"Must be very stressful—moving to a new state," Angela said sympathetically.

The girl in the tank top was very put out that she was the only one of the four not to have met a member of the new family, Gray informed the others.

"Well, she'll get her chance soon enough," Emmett said with a mischievous smile and a wink.

Little by little, the clouds were closing in on the sun.

Mental voices calling Gray's name caught her attention. The rest of the family was joining them. That Carlisle and Esme were coming wasn't wholly surprising, but that Rosalie was with them was.

 _We couldn't stand it!_ Esme enthused. _We want to see him, too!_

Carlisle's thoughts were a little more contained, but only marginally so. He promised her they didn't intend to make her first real meeting with her mate be a whole family affair.

 _We just want a quick peek._

Gray told her siblings they were about to be joined.

Emmett beamed.

 _I told you she'd come around._

"The Denalis are overjoyed," Carlisle said as the three approached. "They are on their way. Eleazar is anxious to determine what he can about your Edward's shield."

 _If it's powerful enough even as a human to fully block Gray's gift, he will make a very valuable asset to the family,_ Jasper thought to himself, every bit the military man he'd been as a human. He was firmly in the camp that favored Edward's being changed sooner rather than later. _Potentially exceptionally valuable._ Gray bristled at her brother's interest in Edward's shield, but she couldn't blame him for thinking as he did, nor could she deny the truth of his thoughts. Their family lived very differently from the rest of their kind, so differently that they drew attention to themselves among the others. Most viewed them as curious anomalies—strange, but harmless—but there were those who felt her family's lifestyle put the secret of their existence at risk. They all knew how careful they had to be to keep the latter group in the minority. They also knew how vital it was to be able to defend themselves if that group ever overtook the former. Jasper was right; a defense like Edward's shield could be extraordinarily beneficial.

"Oh, there he is!" Esme gushed. She pointed him out to Carlisle and Rosalie.

Slowly, the minutes passed. Her family talked around her, but their voices faded to Gray's peripheral awareness. Her entire being was focused on Edward.

In the small park, conversations went on around Edward as they did around Gray, but he did not participate any more than she did. People drifted from one group to the other until the two merged into one. Gray's eyes never left him. _What is he thinking now?_ she continued to wonder. He and his father had discussed her family last night. His friends had talked about her family, and he had replied to that insipid girl's question that yes, he thought she—Gray—was pretty. Outside of those two times, had he thought about her? Had he wondered what she was doing at any given moment as she had with him?

As Gray watched Edward, a simple melody began to take shape in her head. It started slowly, the deeper sound of raindrops falling on a tree branch juxtaposed with the higher pitch of those hitting the glass of a window pane, both imposed over the music of a steadily beating human heart. The notes coming together in her head were being played on a piano, but there would need to be more. String instruments. The piano would be the backbone of the piece she was beginning to weave to life in her mind, but the string instruments would be its wings. Loving Edward was like flying, soaring through the sky, uplifted and untethered by gravity. String instruments would give the piece flight. Loving Edward was also excitement, which would be supplied by the addition of percussion—an ending drum roll and cymbals leading to the most eagerly awaited moment of her life.

After what seemed like forever, the sunlight dimmed as the sun had finally dipped behind the edge of the clouds. Several of the humans at the lake grumbled, but to Gray, it was her prison door springing open. She looked to her family for reassurance.

"If you ask one more time what you should say to him, I'll bite your head off," Rosalie said only half-jokingly.

Excitement thrummed inside Gray.

Carlisle and Esme hugged her. Carlisle's arms lingered around her. He touched her face as he released her. She had been his first companion, the end to his loneliness. They had been together for nearly a hundred years. His thoughts were like those of a father whose little girl had come home with a diamond on her finger.

 _Be happy_ , he told her privately.

Rosalie and Gray held each other's eyes for a brief moment before Rosalie tipped her head.

Jasper took her hand. He motioned with his head in the direction of the narrow road that cut through the woods and would lead them to the small park.

Gray took a deep breath and looked at Edward. As long as she lived, she would remember him as he was at that very moment, and she prayed she would have countless memories to add to it. As she walked through the thick trees, Gray silently pled, _Don't be afraid. I have loved you for a hundred years. I will love you for thousands more._

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Author's notes:

In this chapter Gray quotes from both Alfred, Lord Tennyson's "The Lady of Shalott," 1832 version and Jane Austen's _Sense and Sensibility_ , and the last lines of the chapter are from Christina Perry's "A Thousand Years," which was the inspiration for this fic. However, I did change two words. In the song, the lyrics are "I have loved you for a thousand years." Gray (like Edward in canon) is only just over 100, if you add her human life, or just over 90 if you don't. So, I changed a thousand to a hundred to fit better. I also think it emphasizes that there is more to come than has passed. I changed the last line from "a thousand" to "thousands" because, hey, why stop at one?

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Ma and Pa Kettle are comic film characters of the successful film series of the same name, produced by Universal Studios, in the late 1940s and 1950s. They are a hillbilly couple.

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At the outset of World War I, 403 women were on active duty in the Army Nurse Corps, founded in 1901. By Armistice Day on November 11, 1918, 21,480 nurses had enlisted and over 10,000 had served overseas. Military nurses arrived in Europe before the American Expeditionary Forces. They served in France, Belgium, England, Siberia, Italy, Serbia, Hawaii, Puerto Rico and the Philippines. They worked in field hospitals, mobile units, evacuation, camps and convalescent hospitals as well as on troop trains and transport ships. They served with distinction: three were awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, 23 received the Distinguished Service Medal, and numerous nurses received meritorious awards from allied nations. Several were wounded; more than 200 died in-service.

The Navy Nurse Corps, founded in 1908, grew from 406 to 1,386 members who served stateside, in the Philippines, Guam, Samoa, Haiti and the Virgin Islands. More than 325 served in Europe in field hospitals, on troop transports and on loan to Army Nurse Corps units. Thirty-six died and three among them were posthumously awarded the Navy Cross for service during the influenza epidemic.

War service was hard, uncomfortable and heartbreaking. Overseas the nurses faced raw, cold weather and shortages of water for bathing and laundry, long hours at work and little privacy or time off. They treated shrapnel wounds, infections, mustard gas burns, exposure and medical and emotional trauma.

Chief Nurse of the Army Nurse Corps Julia Stimson described a scene at Rouen in 1918, "Amputations are being done almost every day. Yesterday I went down to the Theater Hut to see how our nurses were going to handle a very bad case...Our people at home would marvel to see what fine work can be done when all the water used has to be heated on top of a small oil stove and all the instruments boiled the same way."

But the need for nurses extended beyond caring for battlefield casualties. A flu epidemic of 1918-1919 took more lives than the war itself, killing 675,000 Americans and more than 20 million people around the world. Most of the more than 200 nurses who died overseas and in the United States were victims of the epidemic, contracted as they cared for patients

Negative public opinion and hesitant military leaders limited women's roles, but the country needed their skills to pursue the war effort and to move male soldiers out of office jobs and onto the battlefield.

By war's end, American military women had served stateside and overseas on the eastern and western war fronts. Over 230 bilingual civilian telephone operators working with the Army were organized and trained by AT&T and took the same oath of allegiance as male soldiers. Dubbed the "Hello Girls," they maintained communications in numerous French localities, sometimes working under combat conditions.

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Shortly after Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, civilian automobile production stopped. During the war, after 1942 until 1946, for the first time in American automotive history, no cars were being built. Instead automotive factories produced military vehicles such as the quarter-ton four-wheel drive Jeep to help the war effort.


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

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This story is set in 2012.

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A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, __years__ \- of support and encouragement.

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 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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 _~.~_

 _STEPPING FROM SHADOWS_

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Chapter 7

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All around Edward, his friends chattered on and on, but his mind was someplace else. He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts, he'd completely lost the thread of their conversation. Part of him wished he'd stayed home—but how pathetic would it be to waste a sunny Saturday by staying home brooding because Jake had no-showed on him yet again? Dammit, though, he wasn't brooding—he was worried. And with due cause, he felt. Jake and he had been best friends all their lives, but Jake just wasn't Jake anymore. It wasn't just the sudden several-inch growth spurt and fifty pounds of muscle Jake had put on so quickly—which, Edward was sorry, just wasn't normal no matter what anyone said—his whole personality had changed since he'd started hanging around with Sam Uley so much. And Mike's comment hadn't helped Edward's mood. He knew it was only spite that had made Mike say what he had—Mike's unrequited crush on Jessica and Jessica's on Edward's best friend had created an awkward strain between them—but he also knew Mike wasn't the only one who questioned how big Jake and some of the other guys on the reservation had gotten so quickly, and regardless of what Edward had said in defense of his friend, he was afraid they might be right. Watching the ripples on the surface of the water, he wondered if he could make up an excuse and leave—say he had a headache or something. He could go to the Hoh for a couple hours, go for a hike by himself and think.

Edward had resolved to do just that and was about to reel in his line when the relentless buzz of voices around him stopped abruptly. The unexpected quiet drew his notice far more than the seemingly endless chatter had, and he turned to see what had captured everyone's attention so completely.

Edward's eyes widened, and he felt the arm holding the fishing pole slacken. All thoughts of Jake were gone in an instant.

Gray Cullen was walking toward him.

His body froze, and his breath rushed from his lungs.

There were other people with her, and he heard Jessica whisper under her breath, "Well, hello, handsome," drawing the words out in awe.

Edward felt just as he had last night when he first saw Gray, like a deer-in-headlights. There was that same feeling of the world shifting beneath his feet. Ridiculously clichéd though it may be, time truly did feel like it stood still as he watched Gray draw closer to him. This girl was more than just beautiful; she was compelling. Her eyes looking at him so intently and the lopsided smile on her lips held him captive. Since he'd met her yesterday, those eyes peaking at him in a side-glance had filled his mind more than once—and, God, had she filled his dreams last night. Seeing her again now, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. The troubled expression was gone, and her eyes looked brighter. She looked happy.

Edward tried to think of something intelligent or funny or clever—or at least not completely idiotic—to say, but his mind was blank.

"Angela, hi!" the girl walking beside Gray called out.

"You remembered," Angela responded. "Guys, this is Alice."

Gray stood not three feet from him, still looking right at him, still smiling. Edward's legs felt weak.

The girl with Gray responded to Angela. Though Edward only saw her peripherally, he thought she glanced in his direction as she said, "It was too nice a day to stay inside, so we made a break for it, escaped all the unpacking for a while."

Alice introduced Gray and the two others with them—both guys and both big. Edward only half-heard their names, but he got the strange idea they were sizing him up. He felt a cold shiver race up his spine until they both grinned at Gray in open amusement when Alice nudged her with her elbow.

"Hello, Edward," Gray said in a gentle, musical voice, a true Siren's song that left him dazzled and wanting to hear it again.

 _Right. Okay. Breath. Relax. Don't look stupid again._

"Hi . . . Gray . . . hi. Hi," Edward stammered. He cleared his throat. "How—how're you?"

Hardly the clever, witty remark he'd have liked to have come up with, but it could have been worse, he reasoned.

Gray's smile widened. "I am very well, Edward, thank you. How are you?"

 _Oh, God—that voice!_ Gray was soft-spoken, but her voice was clear and smooth—and the way she said his name . . . Edward had never heard his name sound like that before, and it left his head floating in the clouds. He knew at that moment that he would hang on every word this girl ever spoke to him. Reading sonnets or reading the phone book, it wouldn't matter. Her voice had him so hypnotized it took him several seconds to remember a response would be expected to her question.

"I'm—I'm—I'm good. I'm good."

 _Real smooth, idiot_. Edward berated himself until amusement made Gray's eyes crinkle as they had last night, and the sight made him forget his stuttered reply just as they had made him forget his clumsiness then.

"I'm glad to hear it," Gray said.

". . . biting?"

Spellbound by the sound of Gray's voice, Edward only caught the last word of whatever one of the two guys with her had asked him. Gray herself was of average height—the only thing about her that was average. The other girl, Alice, was so thin she looked like a strong wind would take her with it. By contrast, the shorter of the two guys was at least as tall as Edward's six-foot-two, and the taller was easily Jake's height and every bit as muscled. Despite the amused expressions on their faces, Edward felt a tremor spread through him. He felt an intense need to take a step back, to put distance between himself and them, but he resolutely pushed the feeling away. Jake's size put a lot of people off, too, he knew.

"Anything biting?" the bigger of the two asked, repeating the question Edward had missed and gesturing to the lake. He looked like someone with a secret and enjoying it immensely.

"Um, no. Nothing."

"Aw, well. Another time, maybe," he said with a laugh and a teasing glance at Gray.

"Please ignore Emmett, Edward," Gray said, exasperation thick in her voice. "He thinks he's funny."

Edward didn't know what the guy had said that anyone would think was funny, but he laughed anyway.

Jessica stepped forward, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, and introduced herself in an overly flirtatious voice. "Welcome to Forks," she added.

Mike introduced himself next, his voice hesitant where Jessica's had been bold.

One by one, his friends worked up the courage to introduce themselves to Gray and her family before falling into an uncomfortable silence again.

"It's—it's—it's too bad you guys missed the sun," Mike offered awkwardly followed by a self-conscious chuckle.

Gray's face shone with happiness. "We don't mind the clouds," she said. It was Mike's comment she had responded to, but, although she'd turned her head a few degrees in his direction in acknowledgment, her gaze never left Edward.

How the sound of someone's voice could be addictive Edward had no idea, but Gray's was, and he was hooked.

The largely forgotten fishing pole in Edward's hand gave a sudden, sharp jerk, startling him, and he tightened his grip.

"Hey, hey! Looks like you got a bite after all," commented the guy Gray had called Emmett.

Edward reeled in his catch, the fish struggling and twisting wildly on the line, but before he could get it in, Gray was at his side, wide-eyed and gripping his arm with surprising strength.

"Throw it back in—Please, Edward, throw it back in."

The tone of her voice had changed completely. While still soft, there was an edge of raw emotion to it, a panic that cut at Edward like a knife. Startled by the intensity of her reaction, he grabbed hold of the fish and hastened to slip the hook free, eager to do anything to ensure that note of alarm left Gray's voice. He knew some people worried the fish felt pain from the hook, but the vehemence of her plea shocked him. Once off the hook, he gently tossed it back into the water.

Gray drew her hands close to herself and shivered. She pressed a hand to her chest and breathed deeply. "I apologize, Edward," she whispered without looking at him. "I acted very foolishly," she added, her voice small and timid.

Hearing her speak in that self-conscious, self-accusatory way was intolerable to Edward, and without thinking, he set his pole down and wrapped his arm around her, intending to offer some sort of contradiction to her words. Gray's body was as stiff as a board against his side, and she was startlingly cold. Instead of the assurance he'd wanted to offer, he said, "Jesus, you're freezing."

Gray's eyes had fallen shut, and her lips had parted. Her body had just begun to relax against his, only to stiffen once more at his words. She cast an anxious glance toward her family, who looked at her with obvious concern.

Surprised at himself, and suddenly remembering the two very large guys with her, Edward stepped back quickly. He swallowed and gestured toward the lake, as if to wave away any need for the apology Gray had offered a moment ago. "Doesn't matter. It was too small to keep, anyway." He licked his lips and rubbed his hands together, feeling an awkward need to do something with them. "I, um, I was just about to pack it in, actually. Before you got here. I, um, I was thinking of heading out to the Hoh for the afternoon." Edward knew he was beginning to ramble, and he snapped his mouth shut before he could embarrass himself further.

Gray's eyes darted again toward her family, and deep discomfort showed in her face. Her gaze drifted downward. Edward didn't know why, but the tension he'd seen in her features last night returned. "Do you go there often?" she asked with the hesitance of one asking a question they do not want the answer to.

"As often as I can," Edward answered slowly. A heavy gloom had settled over Gray, and he couldn't understand why. "I think I know the place by heart. This is a good time of year to go. The deciduous trees are all covered in buds and new leaves, and there are a lot fewer visitors than during the summer."

"Gray was just saying this morning how much she was looking forward to visiting the rainforest, weren't you, Gray?" the blond guy commented, speaking for the first time. Jasper, the other girl—Alice—had said his name was. The last three words were spoken with a subtle emphasis, and he gave Gray a pointed look as he said them.

Gray blinked twice. She looked confused, Edward thought, as her eyes moved between her family and him. She blinked again. Her lips twitched. Her expression was adorable, almost childlike as the confusion cleared. "The . . . Hoh Rainforest. I thought—I mean, yes." Her face brightened, and if Edward hadn't already been lost, the look she directed at him would have done it. "I would very much like to see it."

"We go hiking and camping as often as we can," Alice said in a friendly tone. "Maybe you could tag along," she said to Gray, with another nudge of her elbow. "If Edward doesn't mind, that is?" she asked. Alice was looking at him, but rather than the diminutive girl, what Edward saw were the muscles of the two guys standing behind her and Gray. Again, he felt the need to take a step back, put distance between himself and them, but the feeling was gone as soon as it came.

 _All afternoon alone with her_ , Edward thought to himself. He could hear his pulse racing in his ears, feel it thrumming all the way to his fingertips. _An hour there. A couple hours on the trails. Maybe get something to eat. An hour back_. His mind raced.

"Gray's the only one finished unpacking all her boxes," Alice explained. "She's been sprung. The rest of us are only out on parole. No sense in her being locked up for the rest of the day, too."

"I . . . Yeah. Yeah, that'd . . . that'd . . . be . . ." Edward had never been so tongue-tied in his life. He took a second and cleared his throat before trying again. "That'd be great," he finally managed to say.

"Are you sure?" Gray asked. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and looked up at him through her eyelashes. "I wouldn't want to intrude."

"No," Edward said hurriedly and in a too-loud voice. "No," he said again, softer this time. "I'm sure." _Say yes. Say yes. Please, God, say yes!_

"If you are sure you wouldn't mind, I would like that very much. Thank you."

Edward had such a strong urge to pump his fists in the air he had to put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans to resist it.

"That's settled, then," said Alice with a very pleased-with-herself glint in her eyes as she rocked forward on the balls of her feet.

"I, um . . . Let me just—let me just grab my stuff," Edward said. His stomach was one large knot of excitement. "Just over here." He gestured toward the table where he'd left his things.

As Edward stepped in that direction, Emmett laughed. "Hey, Mack, aren't you forgetting something?"

Edward looked back anxiously. The feeling of unease he'd had before returned yet again.

"Your rod?" Emmett asked with a smirk on his face as he jerked his head he toward the fishing pole Edward had set down moments ago.

"Oh. Right," Edward said. He gave a short, nervous sort of laugh. He'd been around a lot of guys Emmett's size—well, not a lot, but some—all his life when he went to La Push. He didn't know what it was about those two that made him feel so uneasy.

"Have her back by Monday afternoon at the latest," Alice said to him with an impish grin.

Edward tried to smile back at her, but he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Ridiculous, he told himself. Emmett and Jasper were one thing, but Alice? What was wrong with him?

"My, um, my truck's in the lot," he stammered.

"Okay," Gray said, stepping alongside him. She looked at her family once more as they walked away. Edward saw Alice wink at her and wriggle her eyebrows. Whatever had happened to lead to Gray and her sister being adopted, it was clear they were very close.

"I want to thank you again, Edward. It is very kind of you to allow me to join you," she said.

"It's nothing—no, it's—great."

When they reached his truck, Edward stowed his gear in the bed, suddenly conscious of every ding and dent, the faded red paint, and every spot of rust as he remembered the shiny black Mercedes Gray and her mother had driven the night before. He ran his hand through his hair. "Um, this is it." There was dried mud caked in the wheel wells. When was the last time he'd washed it?

"I think it's great," Gray said sincerely.

Edward didn't know about "great," but he did love his truck. It might not be right off the showroom floor, and starting it might sound like being inside a jet engine, but it beat the hell out of being chauffeured around town by the Chief of Police. "Her name is Gertrude."

Gray's steps faltered, and she looked at him with an expression of astonishment, her hand half-raised to open the door. "You named a '53 Chevy pickup 'Gertrude?'"

"You know what year she is?" he asked, surprised.

"I—That's not the point. You named your truck Gertrude?"

It gave Edward no small amount of pleasure to see her reaction. "Actually, no. It wasn't me. She was named long before she was mine. My dad bought her off a friend of his, already christened. It fits her, though. I mean, she's from the '50s, like you said."

Gray lifted an eyebrow and folded her arms. "I will have you know, when I was growing up, one of my best friends was named Gertrude." Her expression was indignant, but her playful tone more than canceled the look on her face, and she laughed as she pulled the heavy door shut behind her. "Oh, how she hated that name. She wouldn't answer to it, except to her parents. You called her Trudy, or you were ignored."

Looking suddenly haunted, Gray lowered her eyes.

Edward once again wondered what had happened, why she had been adopted. "It must be hard, moving to a new state," he offered sympathetically. "You're from Alaska?"

"Only recently. I was born and raised in Chicago."

"I've lived in Forks all my life. I can't imagine what it's like to live in a big city."

Gray laughed as she scratched her neck. "Crowded and noisy."

"But there must be so much to do."

"Yes," she agreed. "But a person disposed to be bored will be bored anywhere, whereas a person disposed to enjoy themselves will always find something to do, no matter where they are."

Edward grinned. It wasn't just the soft tone of her voice, he thought to himself. It was the way she spoke. _Refined, elegant._ She was wearing a simple sweater and jeans with hiking boots, but she spoke like pearls and silk.

"What?" Gray asked with a note of insecurity in her voice.

He shook his head, a little embarrassed. "It's nothing. I just—I just really love the way you talk."

She looked pleased, Edward thought, but also self-conscious.

"Edward, I owe you an explanation for the way I behaved earlier. You must have thought I was off my rocker."

"It really doesn't matter," he assured her. "I know some people worry fish feel pain, and scientists have been arguing about it for years—"

"Oh!" Gray interrupted. "No. No, that wasn't it at all. It's—it couldn't breathe, you see."

Surprised, Edward looked at her, quick glances alternating between keeping his eyes on the road and the nervous way Gray wrung her hands.

"I know that sounds silly," she said, "but I cannot bare to see any living thing unable to breathe."

Before Edward could comment, she continued.

"I don't know how much you may have heard about my family, but we are a bit of a mishmashed bunch."

Edward nodded his head. He didn't want to make her feel like her family had been the center of town gossip, but he admitted, "My dad mentioned something about that after we met you and your mom last night. It's pretty obvious she's not old enough to have a daughter in high school."

"You cannot understand what it's like to not be able to draw breath. It's terrifying. The panic is overwhelming." Gray shivered. "It's not something you ever forget." Her eyes were unblinking and tormented. Her words were a whisper Edward almost didn't hear over the noise of his truck. "No matter how long you live."

Edward reached out and took Gray's hand where it laid on the seat beside her and squeezed it. It felt like she'd been digging in snow barehanded. He turned the heat up. "What happened?" he asked.

Inhaling deeply, Gray continued, her voice more normal but still conveying a tremendous amount of pain. "My parents and Carlisle were close friends. They were involved in a great deal of civic work together. My parents were very civic minded." She looked out the window then down at her lap. "Then the influenza came. The world was normal one day, but then the next . . . It took my mother first, then my father."

Edward remembered the year everyone had been so worried about the flu. Posters on how to prevent the spread of the flu had gone up all over town. If someone so much as cleared their throat at school, they were sent to the nurse's office to have their temperature taken. "I'm so sorry," he offered, feeling how very small the words were and remembering the fight he'd given his father that he didn't want a shot.

"The doctors did everything they could."

Edward took Gray's hand again. This time, he didn't let go.

"It would have taken me as well had it not been for Carlisle. Before my father died, he begged Carlisle to do anything he could to save me. And he did it. He saved me, and he took me in. I owe him my life. But I still remember . . . When influenza develops into pneumonia and your lungs fill with fluid . . . You're sitting in a chair or lying in a bed, and you're drowning. That's why I behaved as I did. To this day, I cannot forget what that was like, and I cannot bare to see any living thing unable to breathe."

Edward stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. He wanted to tell her again how sorry he was, but the words felt miserably inadequate.

"In the midst of life, we are in death," she whispered, more to herself than to him, Edward thought.

"I lost my mom, too," he said. It wasn't the same as what you went through. I was only three, so I really don't remember her. It was a car accident."

"I'm sorry."

"She was only eighteen when she and my dad got married. They eloped. She was from California, and she and some of her friends were driving up the coast after they graduated high school, before starting college. She and my dad met out at First Beach, and they just . . . It was love at first sight. They just swept each other off their feet. Her friends left and went back home, but she stayed here, with my dad. They got married, like, a month after they met. They didn't tell anyone, just went to Seattle for a few days . . . and came back married."

Knowing the marriage had ended in divorce, it saddened Gray to hear how it had begun. Idealistic, impetuous, filled with romantic ideas, and so very little chance of things ending anyway other than they had.

"Getting married so fast, and so young," Edward said, voicing exactly what Gray was thinking. "The chances that they could make it work were pretty much zilch."

She touched him near his elbow and let her hand slide down his arm.

"I'm—"

"But they did," he said with obvious pride.

"—what? They—"

"They made it work. They were happy together."

Gray's heart sank. Edward believed his parents' marriage had been a happy one. So many times she had seen a parent try to keep a painful truth from a child, and it rarely ended well. The truth had a habit of making itself known, and often in a far more painful way than had the parent shared it with the child from the beginning.

"They bought the house and had me." Edward smiled, but then the smile fell. "She was coming home from Seattle when she hydroplaned. I was only three, but I have this kind of memory of it. Of myself, waiting for her. It was Christmas time, and there were lights around the windows, and the tree was up in the corner. I remember the smell of the fresh pine and the warmth of the room and the crackling of the fire burning in the fireplace. I'm wearing these red kiddie pajamas, the kind with the feet in them, and I'm standing on the couch, leaning against the back and looking out the front window, waiting for her to come home.

"I don't—I mean, I was only three. I don't remember anything about being told what happened or the funeral or anything. Just that. I don't know if it's actually what happened, or if I just kind of, you know, made it up in my head." He could see the scene so clearly, it was as if someone had taken a picture of it, and he held in his hand the image of that single moment in time frozen on film.

Edward had kept his eyes steadfastly on the road as he'd talked. Having shared that memory, if it was a memory, with Gray, his throat felt tight with emotion. He'd never told anyone about what he thought he might remember from that night.

"A little of both, possibly," she said so sympathetically the tightness in his throat burned, and he swallowed hard. "You may have a vague memory of waiting for her to come home, but nothing so detailed. Those you may've filled in because you know how they would've been. You know when it happened. It was Christmas time, so you know the lights and the tree would've been up, and the tree's probably always stood in the same place. If you normally have a fire burning in the hearth when the weather is bad, you would naturally include that."

"Maybe."

"I'm so sorry, Edward." Gray's fingers wrapped around his. "All we can do is live in a way we believe would make them proud."

Edward agreed, clearing his throat.

"On a cheerier note, tell me about yourself," she said, turning her body toward him.

"There isn't much to tell. I work at the True Value on weekends and over the summer," he said with a shrug and a self-disparaging little laugh. "Not much to do in Forks."

"Nonsense," Gray protested. "I don't believe for a moment you are the type inclined to be bored. What do you enjoy doing? Do you—I don't know, knit or crochet perhaps?"

Edward laughed. "Um, no."

"You fish, and you like to go to the Hoh Rainforest. Do you like other outdoor pursuits?"

"Yeah, my dad and I go camping a couple times a year with some friends. The friends he bought this truck from, actually."

Gray's fingers fiddled with the collar of her sweater. "One of the friends from the lake just now?" she asked. There was an odd tone of hesitation to her voice, and an equally odd look on her face. She appeared restless, as if she didn't know where to look and so looked everywhere. Everywhere but at him.

"No. They don't live in Forks, actually. They're Native American. They live on a reservation out on the coast. La Push, it's called. It's harder now, though. My dad's friend—his name's Billy Black—is in a wheelchair, so we have to make sure wherever we go is handicap accessible."

"I am sorry to hear about your father's friend. What happened, may I ask?" Gray asked, eyes still flittering about.

"Complications from diabetes."

"That is very unfortunate."

"Now, your turn. Tell me something about yourself. I—," Edward took a second to make sure he was remembering the wording correctly. "I don't believe you're the type inclined to be bored either."

"You would lose your wager," she responded regretfully, dropping her eyes for a moment before looking back up at him. "For far too long I was exactly that. I am ashamed to think now of how lazy I let myself become. My family was worried about me, I know. But no more. I feel alive again."

"I'm glad," Edward said.

"Oh, I love this song!" she exclaimed.

On Saturday, the local radio station played their Eighties in the Afternoon format—all eighties music, all afternoon. As it was one of only two commercial radio stations that served western Clallam County—the other playing country music—there weren't a lot of options. One song had just ended, and the next began immediately.

"My dad likes Billy and Joel, too," Edward said.

Gray looked at him, scandalized. "I'm sorry. Who?"

"Billy and Joel. Isn't that who sings that song?"

Gray looked at him for several seconds, her expression growing more amused from one moment to the next. She shook her head, trying and failing to repress a smile. "There is no 'and.' Billy Joel is a 'he,' not a 'they.'"

"Oh. Oops. Do you like a lot of old eighties music?"

"The eighties aren't all that old," Gray answered. She shrugged. "They weren't horrible, musically. There were memorable moments and cringe worthy moments, certainly. Most of the cringe worthy moments involved very big hair, spandex, and shoulder pads. Still, they were a far cry better than the seventies—not that that is setting the bar terribly high. If nothing else, disco was over, thank the Lord."

"Not a big fan of _Saturday Night Fever_?"

"Now, that you know what _Saturday Night Fever_ was but not that Billy Joel is one man and not a duo quite honestly scares me."

Edward laughed. Talking with Gray now was as easy as talking to Jake. Why had he ever been so tongue-tied around her? "I don't actually know what it was. I mean, I know it was a movie, and I think it had that guy in that white leisure suit thing. But that's about it."

"You aren't missing anything. I confess I prefer the earlier half of the twentieth century to the latter—speaking strictly musically and not socially, of course. Composers like Debussy, Milhaud, Ravel."

"Okay, yeah, I've never heard of any of those people."

Gray grinned. "I will have to introduce you to their work. And to jazz and the big bands and swing. The world of music prior to the arrival of Elvis Presley and The Beatles."

"You like music?"

"Very much. My mother attempted to teach me to play the piano when I was a child, but I was not a very good student. I would never take the time to practice properly. I always preferred to listen to her play. Her fingers—they just flew over the keys."

"I had to play this little plastic recorder thing in the fourth grade. I wasn't very good about practicing, either."

The rest of the drive passed quickly, with Edward and Gray talking and laughing as easily as if they'd known each other all their lives, but at the same time, it was completely new. With every turn the conversation took, he learned something new about the girl next to him, and when Edward pulled into the parking lot, it felt like the hour-long drive had taken mere minutes.

"Driving through town when we arrived, I couldn't help but notice they've torn down the old school and built a new one," Gray commented as Edward pulled into a an empty spot. "What was so wrong with the old one that it needed to be demolished?"

"What wasn't wrong with it?" Edward answered with a chuckle. "The roof leaked real bad, like, everywhere. The foundation needed work. Plus, the electrical was way outdated. And the heating system sucked. It was always cold in there. It took forever for it to warm up."

"You were cold?" Gray asked. Her question had held a note of urgency that surprised him.

"It closed the year before I would've started there because of the problems with the foundation. They deemed it wasn't safe, so we were in temporary trailers 'n stuff until they finished the new one."

Thinking of how cold Gray's hands had felt even after he'd turned the heat up in the truck, Edward remembered an old hoodie he'd shoved behind the driver's seat on a particularly warm day and then forgotten about. They'd been calling for a high in the upper fifties today, but they'd also been calling for the sun to stay out. "Speaking of cold. Why don't you put this on?" He held it out for Gray to take.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly. I'm perfectly comfortable, really. You should wear it."

"Humor me?"

She hesitated before accepting it. "That's very kind of you. Thank you." After pulling it on over her sweater, Gray drew her hands close to herself, twisting one over the other. "I know my hands are cold. My skin always feels cold."

She didn't elaborate, but her tone and body language made it clear there was something she'd left unsaid. She looked apologetic and self-conscious, and Edward quickly changed the subject.

"Since it's you're first time here, I thought we'd take the Hall of Mosses Trail first. It only takes about an hour or so. At about the half-way point there's a short trail that leads to a small grove of maple trees completely covered in moss."

"It sounds lovely," Gray said as she fell into step beside him.

"Wait till you see it. It looks like an alien planet," Edward said with enthusiasm. He loved this place, and he hoped Gray would, too. All around them, the ancient forest sored toward the sky. There was something almost sacred about this place. It was majestic, otherworldly, the sort of place you didn't just see but felt.

"Check this out," Edward said, guiding Gray to an old telephone booth near the visitor's center. In the years since cell phones had rendered pay phones obsolete, the forest had been battling to reclaim the small piece of land where the old booth stood. The phone itself long gone, the remaining structure was covered on top by thick moss which hung down and obscured the faded yellow paint of the word PHONE almost entirely. The wooden fence that surrounded it on three sides would not be visible at all for much longer if the thick vegetation were not cut back soon.

"Oh!" Gray exclaimed upon seeing it. She approached the old phone booth tentatively, like one would an animal, afraid of spooking it. "It's rather unsettling in a way," she commented. "It's like a scene from a movie where all human life has been decimated and nature is erasing the evidence mankind ever existed."

Edward agreed, then— _Oh, hell._ "Speaking of phones," he said as he pulled his phone from his back pocket. "I better let my dad know where I am, or he might just set the State Police out after me."

"He won't mind, I hope?"

"Nah. As long as he knows where I am, he's cool."

A wooden sign post, also draped in moss, pointed toward a path through the trees and read: HALL OF MOSSES.

Starting in that direction, Edward told Gray about the area. "The Hoh is one of the largest temperate rainforests in the United States. The area from Oregon to southeast Alaska used to be covered in thick, ancient forests just like this, but after decades of heavy logging, only a few protected areas are left."

"It really is spectacular," Gray said appreciatively.

"Sitka spruce and western hemlock are the most dominant species of trees. Many of them are hundreds of years old. Some can be as big as two hundred and fifty feet tall and sixty feet around."

"You're very knowledgeable."

"Yeah," Edward said as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, embarrassed at how much like a tour guide he had to have sounded. "Some guys are tech nerds. I'm an outdoor nerd."

"Nothing of the sort. There is nothing wrong with being enthusiastic about something that interests you."

Edward looked around. "I really do love it here. I'd really like to study forestry."

"You want to be a forest ranger?"

"Yeah, I do," he responded with a self-conscious grin. "I always have, since I was little. Some little boys want to be astronauts or firemen or professional baseball players, but I've always wanted to work outdoors. The University of Washington has a really good forestry and environmental sciences program, if I can get accepted."

"Is it a highly selective school?"

He shrugged. "They've got about a 55% acceptance rate. It's just that my math grade is really bad. Everything else is good. I've just always sucked at math. I have to get at least about a six hundred on the SAT in math, and I don't know, that's kind of a stretch. My PSAT score was only five twenty-five. Well, actually, first, I have to pass trig this year, and now with Mr. Varner—I don't know if you know about—"

"Yes. I heard. Very tragic. You're in danger of failing trigonometry and not getting into your school of choice?"

"Yeah. I just can't get it, you know?" He inhaled and scratched the back of his head. "And now we'll have a sub until they can hire someone, and God knows how long that'll take. Forks isn't exactly brimming over with people waiting to be hired to teach high school math."

"I can help you. I happen to be very good at trigonometry."

Edward's eyes widened. "You're serious?"

"Yes. It isn't really difficult."

He scoffed. "It is to me."

"It may not be you at all. Perhaps this Mr. Varner just wasn't the right teacher for you. Everyone learns in a different way. Someone may be a great teacher for one student but not for another. What kind of teacher was he?"

"A rotten one." Edward grimaced. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Why? Because he's dead?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead and all that." He sighed. "I mean, that kind of makes it worse, you know? We were all talking about it a little at the lake before you guys got there. It was really awkward. No one can think of anything nice to say that isn't a bunch of bull. You're supposed to be sorry when someone dies, but really, everyone just seems shocked. And I think that makes them feel guilty, that they really aren't all that upset. When my dad told me last night after we got home, I was just surprised. I thought about how hard it must've been for my dad—going to the scene, and if it was him who had to tell Mrs. Varner—and I thought about her and their kids. I do feel really bad for them. Then I thought of my grade and how long it would take to find a new teacher. I never really thought about the man who died."

"That's very honest of you to admit. Very few people would be so honest. But personally, I feel that if a person wishes to be spoken of well after they've died, they should live accordingly. No one ever has to make themselves think well of a person who was kind."

They walked along for a short while in a comfortable silence before Edward said, "There are about four hundred Roosevelt elk in the Hoh. You've got a much better chance of seeing them grazing in the morning or evening, but maybe we'll get lucky."

"That would be nice."

As Gray walked, she looked all around her, at all the trees lining the path, up at the canopy of branches high above them. "It really is spectacular," she said.

The Hoh was one of Edward's favorite places, and he was thrilled Gray seemed to like it as well.

Stopping and looking into the trees, Gray exclaimed, "Oh, my." Leaving the trail, she ventured into the dense undergrowth.

"Be careful. The ground can be very uneven off the path," he warned, following her.

She laughed softly.

"How extraordinary!" she called back to him. "What would cause this?"

Gray knelt in front of the first of three trees growing in a straight line. All three appeared to be growing on stilt-like roots, leaving a tunnel-like opening just large enough for Gray to crawl through beneath the tree.

"It's incredible," she said.

"It's called a colonnade," Edward explained. "Probably about a couple hundred years ago, a tree fell right along this line," he pointed back to the other three trees, "and became what's called a nurse log. Because the ground is so densely covered, a lot of the time, seedlings will germinate on a fallen, decaying tree. The decaying tree provides the seedlings with nutrients, and as they grow, their roots will eventually wrap clear around the fallen tree and reach the ground. It can take centuries, but eventually, the nurse log will decompose fully. When it does, it leaves a void behind, just like that."

"You really are very knowledgeable," she said as she stood, brushing debris from her knees.

Walking back to the path, something else caught her attention, and she made her way through the undergrowth a few yards to get a closer look. "Come, look at this! What appears to be an overripe banana is crawling along a dead stump," she said, laughing.

Edward had followed her but he stopped a short distance away. He could now see what had drawn Gray's attention. She was standing beside a decaying stump, with her hands on her knees and leaning over to inspect a particularly large, bright yellow and black mottled banana slug. How she could possibly have seen it from where they'd been standing, he couldn't imagine.

He told her what it was she was looking at, to which she responded that it was very aptly named. With another laugh, she said, "Although, this one appears to be rather overripe."

As they returned to the trail, Edward asked, "Do you have any idea what you'd like to major in at college yet?"

"I don't really know." She considered for a moment. "Perhaps art history."

Edward raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, but he didn't comment.

She smiled. "You don't think it would be a very in-demand field?"

"I didn't say that."

"No, but it's probably true. Perhaps, I should double major. Possibly a second degree in philosophy. Would that increase my job prospects, do you suppose?"

"Undoubtedly."

"What you mean is that I would be a very well-educated waitress."

"You like art a lot?"

"Oh, I do," Gray replied, and Edward could see light come up in her eyes. "I always have. My parents exposed me to art frequently as a child—museums and exhibits, and we had a small art collection ourselves. It amuses me how very capricious man's tastes are. What might be lauded as a masterpiece by one generation can be ridiculed by the next. The public's whims change. They can also be unduly influenced by people who purport to know what's good and what's not. For example, take Andy Warhol. His works sell for incredible sums, but is that because they can truly be called remarkable or because credulous people with money to spend have been told they are? I admit, I'm not a fan of pop art, and I look forward to seeing whether anyone will even recognize the name Andy Warhol in another hundred years."

"You seem pretty confident of reaching a hundred and seventeen," Edward said.

Gray shrugged, an enigmatic smile on her lips.

Returning to the subject, she said, "My favorite artist is a man named Pavel Jerdanowitch."

"I've never heard of him," Edward admitted, feeling rather self-conscious. Warhol, he'd heard of—not that he could've told you the first thing about him. And he'd heard of Picasso and maybe two or three others, but that was the extent of his knowledge of art.

Grinning, Gray gained a step or two on Edward then turned to face him. Walking backward, she continued her story.

"Oh, I wouldn't expect you to have. He only ever painted a small number of pictures. He created an entirely new style of painting, Disumbrationism, and his work was terrifically well received by the critics for couple years."

"What happened? Did he die suddenly or something?"

She laughed.

"There was no such man! The whole episode was a practical joke, a plot of revenge dreamed up by a man whose amateur artist wife's work was slammed by the critics."

Gray spoke animatedly, obviously enjoying sharing the story with him, still facing him as she walked backward. The path was clear and mostly very level, but a few feet farther on a root jutted out of the ground. Edward saw it almost too late to warn her, but before he could say a word, Gray lifted her foot and stepped cleanly over it. How she knew it was there, he had no idea.

"He believed critics were too easily influenced by fads and were unable, or unwilling, to think independently of popular opinion, so he created a fictional persona and fed them a story deliberately crafted to fit what was popular at the moment. There were a number of Russian painters who were all the rage just then, so Paul Jordan Smith became Pavel Jerdanowitch. He created a truly terrible painting and touted it as a new style of painting, Disumbrationism. _Umbra_ is the Latin word for 'shadow.' It's very difficult to paint shadows well, so he didn't. Then he flaunted his lack of skill by coining an impressive sounding word to make what was really a fault into a new style, thereby validating it in the eyes of the critics. When the painting was met with resounding critical praise, he produced more paintings—each as awful at the rest, and each as critically acclaimed—over the next three years before he ended the hoax, telling a reporter from the Los Angeles Times all about how the joke he'd pulled on the art world."

Edward laughed and looked at Gray skeptically. "That didn't really happen."

"It did!" Gray walked alongside him again. "Several critics dug their heals in and flat out refused to admit they'd been so thoroughly duped." She laughed along with Edward. "They insisted he must be so naturally talented that even deliberately trying to paint poorly, he'd created great works."

"Tell me something else about yourself," Edward said. He could listen to Gray talk all day. She was unlike anyone else he'd ever met. Not to mention, she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. "Do you," remembering Gray asking if he liked to knit or crochet, Edward teased, "I don't know, like hunting or monster truck rallies?"

"Monster truck rallies, no." With a playful gleam in her eyes, Gray said, "But I do hunt, yes."

"No way. You hunt? Seriously?"

Folding her arms and raising an eyebrow in an expression of mock outrage—a look Edward already found familiar—Gray asked, "Girls don't hunt?"

"I didn't say that," he said, raising his hands up in self-defense. "Maybe we could go hunting together sometime."

Anyone would have thought Gray had just had her greatest wish handed to her by the way her face lit up. "I look forward to it," she said.

They walked on, talking about everything and nothing until they came to a point in the trail Edward had been anxious for Gray to see. Just around the next bend stood one of the most popular spots in the Hoh.

She gasped and exclaimed "Oh!" as it came into view, and she ran ahead of him. "How enchanting!"

"It's pretty cool, isn't it?"

She agreed with a burst of delighted laughter.

"It's wonderful! I've never seen anything like it!"

Gray turned in circles where she stood, looking upward in fascination. Above her was the curved trunk of a live maple tree, bent back toward the earth until it formed a perfect arch, just the right size for a person to walk beneath. She stood under the arch, stretching her hands up and trying to touch the moss dangling like Christmas tinsel above her. Her expression was one of childlike fascination, and when she looked at him and smiled, she was so breathtakingly beautiful, Edward could almost have believed she was an angel or a goddess masquerading as a girl. She looked like an illustration from a child's fairytale book come to life, a woodland fairy made human by magic. All he could do was stare at her, utterly dazzled.

Trying to throw off his stupor, Edward shook himself. He breathed deeply and swallowed hard. His heart was racing, and he felt lightheaded and slightly drunk—like the time he and Jake swiped a couple of cans of Jake's father's beer and drank them out in the shed behind the house a couple of summers ago. Or when he and Jake would go cliff diving: the incredible rush of running up to the edge and hurdling into the air, the way his stomach felt as he plummeted to the water below, the sharp sting of hitting the surface, and the weightlessness of being below the waves.

"I'm glad you like it," he said as he joined her. Did she know how she was making him feel, what she was doing to him? "Makes up for not getting to see any elk," he added in an attempt to sound more relaxed than he felt.

Slowly, she stepped closer to him, closing what little distance there was between them. Her eyes fell to his chest, and she raised her hand and placed her fingertips directly over his furiously beating heart. Although her touch was as light as a feather, Edward felt a tingle at the spot where she touched him.

She stood motionless with her eyes staring, unblinking, at her hand as if she didn't recognize it. Any question that she might not know what she was doing to him was erased. There was no way she could not feel the wild hammering of his heart or that she could not understand the reason for it. The look on her face was one of pure wonder, so much so that Edward dared to hope that if he were to feel her heart, he would find it beating as rapidly as his own.

Her fingers moved up from his chest to his shoulders and neck. They skimmed across his jaw to his chin, just below his mouth. Her touch was icy cold, and Edward felt goosebumps break out across his skin.

Gray pulled her hand away with a sudden jerk. "My hands," she apologized, "I know how cold they must feel to you."

Edward reached out for her hand and drew it toward him, cradling it in his own. There was no longer any point in trying to hide how he felt. He couldn't have, even if he'd wanted to.

"Edward, I have a confession to make," Gray said. "I couldn't care less whether we see any elk."

Then she raised herself up onto her toes and kissed him.

It was just the briefest brush of her lips against his, but it sent shockwaves through Edward like nothing he'd ever felt before, and as he inhaled sharply in surprise, he could taste her breath in his mouth. It tasted sweet and rich, like honey or caramel, and it was cold against his tongue.

Edward's head spun. This wasn't cliff diving. This was skydiving at twenty thousand feet. Never in his life had he dreamed anything could be like the feel of Gray's lips against his own.

He cupped his hands around her neck and jaw, their faces only inches apart. He stroked her jaw with his thumb. Their noses touched briefly, and they smiled.

Every cell in Edward's body thrummed with adrenalin. Every sense was heightened. He could feel Gray's every inhale and exhale. He could smell the unique scent of her perfume—it smelled like sunshine, if sunshine had a scent. She smelled warm and sweet. Edward closed his lips over hers and touched the tip of his tongue to the corner of her mouth. She tasted the way she smelled.

Gray's lips moved from his mouth to his jaw. Edward felt goosebumps spread down his neck.

He took her in his arms more forcefully. His hands ran over her shoulders, her arms, her back. They buried themselves in her hair. Gray's hands moved over him just as his did over her. Her arms held him with surprising strength. His mouth covered hers. His tongue tasted her lips, and when her lips parted and her tongue met his in the open air, Edward felt her body tremble and then go rigid in his arms.

As suddenly as their kiss had started, it ended. Gray stepped away from him and, shaking, wrapped her arms around her middle.

With alarm rapidly welling up inside him, Edward stood beside her. He raised his hand but hesitated before setting it gently on her shoulder, ready to pull it away in an instant if she gave the slightest indication his touch was unwelcome.

"I'm sorry," she said as she laid her hand on top of his. "I just," she breathed deeply, "needed to catch my breath." With a rueful smile contradicting the bright gleam in her eyes, she added, "I'm afraid you must think I'm terribly forward. Let me assure you, I am not the sort of girl who goes around kissing handsome young men she's only just met. Not normally, anyway. But this is a rather . . . special circumstance."

Without another word, she kissed him again.

~.~

* * *

Thanks for reading, and Happy Thanksgiving!

Thank you to April for my lovely banner! Check it out on Facebook group Twilight FanFiction Pays it Forward. It features the very spot where Edward and Gray had their first kiss. It's a real place in the Hoh Rainforest, as is the phone booth. As Edward says, you can Google it. Don't forget to check out the Facebook group for teasers for chapter 8!

Author's notes:

Gray quotes things a lot. In this chapter, she quotes from the Burial Service from the book of Common Prayer of the Anglican and Episcopal Churches.

"In the midst of life we are in death. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

I think this quote has a double meaning for Gray. She and her family are surrounded by life, they are in its midst, but they are in death, too.

The old Forks High School Gray would have attended the first time the family lived in Forks was built in 1925 and torn down around 2011.

The banana slug is the second largest species of slug in the world, don't you know. Up to 9.8 inches long and able to move at breakneck speed of 6 ½ inches a minute.

The age requirement in Washington to get a marriage license is 18, and you do not have to be a resident of Washington to get a marriage license. The license becomes valid after three days, and the ceremony must be performed within the state. So Renee and Charlie could elope with no one knowing.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

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This story is set in 2012.

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A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

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 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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 _Chapter 8_

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 _He has such lovely eyes_ , Gray thought to herself with a mental sigh. _Such a true, vivid green. So uncommon_. Then there were all the rays of gold surrounding his pupils. Like little sparks.

Gray laughed to herself. What a difference a day makes. To think that only just yesterday she'd have snickered at someone's mooning over another person's eyes, and now here she was, memorizing the exact shades in Edward's. Thank the Lord Rosalie would never know. Gray'd literally never hear the end of it.

The smile faded from her face. The inevitable fact was that once Edward was changed, all those wonderful shades of green and little gold sparks would exist only in her memory. But the only alternative was worse: that he not be changed, and one day it would be Edward himself who would only exist in her memory.

 _Like the dew on the mountain,_

 _Like the foam on the river,_

 _Like the bubble on the fountain,_

 _Thou art gone and forever._

Gray's stomach clenched, and she curled in on herself as if physically struck.

"Are you okay?" Edward asked, worry etched in the beautiful eyes that kept her so spellbound.

"It's nothing," Gray assured him. Her hands wrapped around the cup of tea she'd been forcing herself to consume, and she pushed the thought aside. Heaven knew, there'd be time to dwell on it later, when Edward was not sitting within arm's reach. Right then, she just wanted to enjoy her time with him. "Just someone walking over my grave."

"Are you sure you don't want anything else?" Edward asked, gesturing to the empty bowl in front of her.

"Very," Gray responded, repressing a grimace.

After they'd finished their walk, they'd gone on a second, along a different trail. It was now twilight, and they'd stopped in at a little place called the Hard Rain Cafe for something to eat. Gray set her cup down and reached across the table to stroke her fingers along the back of Edward's hand. Of course, both the tea and the tomato soup she'd forced herself to consume had been revolting, but they had done their job, and that was what mattered. Their warmth had seeped into her, and her hand would not feel so cold to him now.

Nor would her lips, were they to kiss again. . . .

She'd kissed him—she could scarcely believe she'd been so brazen. Every detail of their first kiss was etched into her perfect memory to be savored again and again.

Gray rested her head on her palm. She could see the strong, steady rhythm of Edward's pulse beating in his neck. It had been racing earlier. She could still feel the echo of its rapid pounding in the tips of her fingers. But it was calm and relaxed now, as was his breathing. The tell-tale signs of agitation and discomfort were all absent. Edward was completely relaxed with her.

Incredible.

She wished she could know what he was thinking at that exact moment. "Penny for your thoughts," she prompted.

With a sharp exhale that sounded suspiciously as if it was masking a laugh, Edward turned his head and pressed his lips together. The muscles at the corners of his mouth and along his jaw twitched, as if he was trying to repress a grin and on the verge of failing. She thought he looked embarrassed, like someone caught in the middle of making mischief. This impression was strengthened as the skin at the base of his neck developed a lovely pink blush and a charmingly lopsided smile spread across his face in spite of his best attempt to subdue it. Gray's mind raced with possibilities of what was on his. His pulse was no longer as calm as it had been. When he looked at her, his scent changed, deepened.

Gray leaned toward him.

 _Fuck, she is so hot._

With a heavy sigh she sat back.

"Waiter's coming," she said in answer to the unspoken question in Edward's eyes. "Again," she added, her voice tight with annoyance.

Edward's expression darkened like the storm clouds that had covered the sky the day before. This was their waiter's sixth visit to their table under the pretense refilling drinks and asking if he could bring them anything.

 _Creepy, though. The way she stares at him—bet she's the possessive type. And difficult. Probably expects him to come running the moment she calls. And I bet he does. What guy wouldn't? Fuck, she is so hot._

"How is everything?" the waiter asked once again, his gaze lingering on Gray and his mind continuing along the same lines. "Are you sure I can't get you anything else?"

"No, thank you," she responded frostily.

 _Probably the type that's always on one diet or another, I bet. Nothing but tomato soup and tea._

This time spent with Edward was like a dream come true, and fed up with the intrusion of the man's contemptuous thoughts, Gray raised her eyes to him and scowled. She relaxed her features almost immediately, but she had accomplished her goal. The man's face had gone bone white and his mind blank.

One second.

Two.

Three.

 _WHAT THE—WHAT THE FUCK!_ he exclaimed mentally once he could form coherent thoughts, and he scurried away, back to the kitchen, like a mouse chased to its hole by a cat.

Edward snickered. "Remind me never to make you mad," he said with an easy laugh as he pushed his plate away.

Horrified that Edward had witnessed the glimpse of the monster inside her she'd allowed to show through—however briefly—Gray lowered her eyes and reproached herself. In the future, she would have to be much more careful. It had been irresponsible of her to allow so insignificant an irritant as the waiter's thoughts to goad her into such carelessness.

The manager, a plus-sized woman with salt-and-pepper hair that was decidedly heavier on the salt than the pepper, was coming to check on them now, both confused and exasperated by her employee's sudden and absolute refusal to re-enter the dining room. Her train of thought changed the moment she caught sight of Gray.

 _Can't imagine what the hell—Oh, my . . . She is a beauty, isn't she?_

"Everything alright, dears?" the manager asked, her eyes flittering between Gray and Edward as her mind filled with a sense of uneasiness she couldn't make sense of.

Gray schooled her expression into one of complete innocence. "Perfectly fine, thank you," she responded in the carefully cultivated tone of voice she used when wanting to put humans at ease. She gave the woman a hint of a smile, letting not a sliver of her teeth show between her lips.

The woman blinked as if too bright of a light had been shined in her eyes.

"I think we're ready for the check," Edward said.

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I'll just . . . I'll just . . ." The woman walked off, dazed and moving as if she'd had one or two too many, leaving her sentence unfinished.

 _Perhaps I went a little too heavily in the opposite direction with her,_ Gray mused.

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* * *

.

It had been dark by the time they'd gotten back to town, and Edward had barely been able to see the narrow gap in the trees Gray had instructed him to turn in to. He'd lived in Forks all his life and had traveled this stretch of highway countless times, but the forest concealed the narrow road so well, he'd never had any idea it was there.

As dark as it had been on the highway, the winding access road through the virtual sea of towering pines was darker still, and Edward could only see where he was driving as far as the next curve of the road until one of those curves opened into a clearing the size of a football fields.

"No way," Edward said.

Beside him, Gray giggled.

In the center of the clearing stood a huge house that looked like it belonged in a fairy tale.

"Do you like it?"

"It's incredible," Edward answered sincerely, his eyes staring up at the house as he put his truck in park. This was no dilapidated fixer-upper. The house was three stories tall and big enough to have several large rooms on each floors. There were apartment buildings in Forks smaller than this house. How long had it been there, he wondered? Who'd built it? And why here? How long had it sat empty? How had no one in town known of its existence, and how had Gray's family found out about it?

"Would you—would you like to come in for a little while?"

Edward turned to Gray, who was looking at him with a dreamy look on her face that reminded him of how he felt when he looked at her. Speechless, he could only answer with a nod.

Edward pulled the key from the ignition, and he heard the heavy slam of passenger door closing as he opened his own door, but before his feet even hit the ground, Gray was already standing there, waiting for him.

Without warning, she kissed him again, and Edward's head swam, but she stepped away just as suddenly as she'd kissed him, leaving him feeling dazed and breathless. He inhaled deeply, letting the cool night air fill his lungs and clear his head.

Gray took his hand and raised it, twirling under their raised arms like a dancer. She took his hand in both of hers and stepped toward the house. "There is so much I want to show you," she said.

The house was predominantly white with dark wood timbers, very European-looking, Edward thought. It also featured gray brickwork along the first floor, and light shone out large rectangular windows on either side of the square front porch, showing off diamond-shaped leaded glass.

"The house was designed in the 1930s by a woman named E. A. Rochester. She was only the second woman to become a licensed architect in the state of Washington," Gray said proudly. "It's a blend of styles, primarily Tudor and Craftsman."

The front porch was made of gray stone and had square-shaped pillars painted white, standing atop heavy stone bases. Two entry doors, made of the same dark wood as the timbers, stood easily ten feet tall.

"This is amazing," Edward said. "I can't believe this house has been here all these years, and no one in town knew anything about it." It really was like a fairytale.

"The Rochesters only lived here for a few years. The house has sat empty ever since, but a building management firm in Seattle has had charge of its upkeep."

The Rochester family must have been big shots in the logging industry, Edward thought, to have the kind of money a house like this represented. He ran his hand down his stomach self-consciously. Between this grand of a house and his memory of the shiny black Mercedes Gray and her mother had driven the night before, Edward felt the old flannel shirt he wore over a t-shirt from a touristy Mexican restaurant in Seattle, along with the age of his truck and all its dings and dents, acutely.

Gray opened one of the two entry doors and led him inside, their fingers linked together.

Inside, the house was even more beautiful than it was outside. They entered into a large entry hall with wood paneled walls and a hardwood floor covered in thick rugs. Artwork covered the walls, interspersed by brass light fixtures with frosted glass covers, and archways with heavy wooden molding led into rooms that looked like they belonged on the set of a period drama on PBS. Furthering the period impression, a large wooden staircase dominated the far end of the room.

"Gray, you're home."

The woman he'd met with Gray last night walked toward them, smiling welcomingly. She was wearing a ruffled apron and carrying a plate of cookies.

"You remember Esme, my mother for all intents and purposes," Gray said to him.

The two guys who'd been with Gray earlier came tearing into the room, the bigger of the two shouting, "Oh, boy! Cookies!"

Esme moved the tray out of his reach and scolded them, telling them to behave in front of Gray's friend.

Gray rubbed her forehead.

"Ah, Gray's home," said a man's voice.

Gesturing to the man descending the staircase, and with a note of resignation in her voice as she gave Edward an apologetic glance, she said, "And this is my father, Carlisle Cullen."

Just like the rest of her family, Gray's adoptive father was indescribably handsome. He also shared the same pallid skin tone and tired eyes. Had the entire family been sick, Edward wondered? Or was it just the strain of the move that had run them down?

"Dr. and Mrs. Cullen," Edward greeted. "You have a beautiful home."

Edward thought Gray's mother glowed at the complement to their new house.

"Carlisle and Esme, dear, please." She held the tray of cookies out to him. "Please, help yourself. They're just out of the oven."

Gray's adoptive father joined them and wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders. A moment later, the remaining family member, Alice, came skipping down the stairs.

Gray tugged on his arm. "I'm going to show Edward the house," she said with something verging on desperation in her voice.

Alice glided across the room and stole a cookie from the tray. Their mother made a _tsk, tsk_ sound. Gray's family stood together, looking like a photo shoot for a designer clothing catalog, and the hair on the back of Edward's neck stood on end as goosebumps raced down his back. When Gray tugged on his arm a second time, he was glad to let her lead him away.

As they mounted the stairs, Gray closed her eyes. "I'm sorry about that," she said quietly.

At her embarrassed tone, Edward grinned. "Your family seems very close," he said. Only after he'd begun to speak had Edward realized he wasn't sure what word to use to describe Gray's family, and he was glad he'd come up with "close" in time.

"You must show him your piano, Gray," her mother called to them as they reached a landing halfway up the staircase.

Edward glanced back down at Gray's family and saw as Alice slipped her hand into Jasper's back pocket. Edward's eyes widened, and he gasped. His gaze flicked to Alice's face before darting away, and he stared straight ahead. Alice had been looking directly at him, and she'd winked. The goosebumps he'd already had spread. He could feel them against his shirt.

Beside him, Gray released a long breath. "You saw that," she said resignedly.

"Um . . . Yeah," Edward admitted. Extremely uncomfortable, he ran his hand through his hair. "Your sister and, um, cousin. . . ."

Gray fidgeted. Her eyes darted here and there, and she rubbed a hand up and down her arm as if she were cold. She looked toward him, but not at him; her attention seemed focused on the pattern of the carpet running up the middle of the stairs. "We've all lost everyone we'd ever loved," she explained in a soft, sad voice that tore Edward's heart in two. "When you know the enormity of a loss like that, you hold on to a second chance at love with both hands, should you be lucky enough to find it, in any form in which you find it. Alice and Jasper . . . like Carlisle and Esme, and Emmett and Rosalie, they're two halves of one whole."

Edward swallowed. He inhaled and licked his lips. He'd give anything to drive that broken tone from Gray's voice for good. "You don't have any family left in Chicago?" he asked.

She shook her head as she led him up a second flight of stairs. Twisting her fingers together, she answered, "No. They're all gone now. Only my mother's family was in Chicago, though. Papa was British. His name was Edward, too. I only met his family once."

"You called your father 'Papa?'"

"Um, yeah," Gray answered somewhat sheepishly. "Mama and Papa. And there was Grandmother. She died a year after my parents. I think losing my mother was too much for her." Gray smiled, though it was full of sadness and regret. "During their lifetimes, they rarely saw eye to eye. I remember Grandmother being very disapproving and stern. I never realized how much she loved my mother, or me. Not until after. . . ."

They continued up the stairs from the second floor to the third, and at the top of the stairs, Gray guided him left.

"This is my part of the house," she said.

 _Her_ part _of the house?_ Edward thought to himself. The bottoms of his jeans were pretty badly frayed, he only just noticed.

Four paintings hung along the hallway, the dark wood of their frames contrasting the off-white walls. One painting in particular caught Edward's attention. In it, three women in flowing, medieval-looking gowns stood before a man seated on a boulder and holding a golden apple.

"The Judgment of Paris," Gray said. Edward looked at her questioningly, and she explained, "These are all of scenes out of Greek mythology,"

"Greek mythology," Edward repeated, as much to himself as to her. First, music and art. Now, Greek mythology. Oh, and good at advanced math, don't forget that.

Gray went on to explain, pointing to other paintings one after the other, "The moment Orpheus loses Eurydice for the second time, Hades abducting Persephone, and Hercules killing the Nemean lion."

Apart from Hercules, Edward had never heard of any of the names she'd just said. "You know about Greek mythology?" he asked in surprise he was afraid sounded more like disbelief.

Gray smiled the sad smile he'd seen on her face too many times that day.

"I'm a wealth of useless knowledge. A veritable treasure chest," she said in a self-deprecating tone. "Maybe I should tack a minor in mythology on to my art history and philosophy majors."

"You got the 'treasure' part right," Edward responded, thinking out loud before he could stop himself. He felt heat spread across his face and could only imagine how red he'd turned, but at the sight of the happiness that shone in Gray's face, he was glad he'd said it. "What exactly is the Judgment of Paris?" he asked. He didn't know the first thing about Greek mythology, and to tell the truth, he couldn't have cared less. What did he did care about, however, was hearing Gray talk about something that interested her.

"It's a rather long story, all told, but essentially, three goddesses—Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite—each wanted to claim a golden apple from the Garden of the Hesperides, which had been inscribed 'To the Fairest,' for herself. They asked Zeus to judge which of them was the fairest and award the winner the apple, but he did not want to choose one of the goddesses over the other two—and put up with the anger of the other two as a result, I'm sure. He selected Paris, a Trojan mortal, to be the judge.

"In their turn, each of the three goddesses attempted to bribe Paris with her powers. Hera offered him wealth and power, to make him king of all Europe and Asia. Athena offered him wisdom and glory and victory in all his battles. And Aphrodite . . . Aphrodite, in her turn, promised him the world's most beautiful woman in return for choosing her, a woman equal to the goddess herself in beauty. Paris had been drunk with excitement at the rewards offered to him by Hera and Athena, but after Aphrodite's promise, he handed her the apple without a second thought."

"Then what happened?" he asked.

"True to her word, Aphrodite gave Paris the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen of Sparta. However, Helen was already married—to a Greek king. Paris abducted Helen and took her back to Troy. Or she ran off with him willingly—thanks to Aphrodite's influence. There are various versions of the legend."

"Helen of Sparta? Helen of _Troy_?" Edward asked. He'd at least heard of Helen of Troy before, not that he could've told you a thing about her.

Gray dipped her head in confirmation. "Enraged, the Greeks launched a force to retrieve her, and so began the Trojan war, which eventually both killed Paris and destroyed Troy, fulfilling a prophecy made before his birth that he would bring about the destruction of the city."

"And you know the stories behind all of these paintings?" Edward asked, trying to grasp a seventeen-year-old who knew the things Gray knew.

"I'm rather overly well read. I've had a lot of time to kill." Gray looked up at him through her lashes with a smirk on her face. Turning distinctly satirical and tipping her head to the painting, she added, "The goddesses are typically painted nude, although there is no basis for that in the legend."

Edward cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Are they?" he asked. The pitch of his voice was noticeably higher than normal, and he cleared his throat a second time. He could feel heat spreading across his face again.

Gray's smirk spread, and she leaned against the wall, her arms folded in front of her. "Of course, those paintings were all done by men."

"And—and this was, these were by a woman?" Edward asked. He looked for a signature, but there were only initials and a date: G.I.M. 1941.

Gray hummed a confirmation. She looked at the painting then at the ground. Her hair hung down, largely hiding her face from his view, but what little Edward could see was haunted.

As he tried to think of something to say to drive that look away, Gray turned her head to the stairs, as if she'd heard someone coming. She took his hand, leading him down the hallway.

"This is my room," she said.

Instantly, the muscles in Edward's stomach tightened, and he thought his legs might give out beneath him. He followed her obediently, struggling to keep the fact that all the blood in his body had just sped to one location from being obvious as he walked. At the end of the hall, she opened a door, and Edward stepped in after her, his palms sweating.

It was just a room, not a bedroom. Her _part_ of the house, she'd said. Edward's shoulders drooped as much with relief as disappointment—her parents were somewhere around. Not to mention Emmett and Jasper and their muscles. . . .

The room had a vaulted ceiling. The hardwood floor was bare, and most of the exterior wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, giving what had to be a spectacular view of the ancient forest surrounding the house, although it was too dark to appreciate it then. A sound system sat in one corner, still in boxes, and a glass door led to a small deck. Shelves filled with books and music—both CDs and records—interspersed with a number of small knickknacks, more artwork, and several vintage-looking black and white photographs lined the interior walls. The only piece of furniture in the room was a large suede couch.

"Wow, you've got, like, a ton of books and music," Edward said, walking over and reading some of the titles. He'd never heard of most of them, and he was pretty well-read himself.

"I read a lot."

Edward looked at her. "Are you reading anything right now?"

Gray shook her head as she curled herself down onto the couch. "Not currently."

Right, with the move there wouldn't be much time for reading.

"I'm trying to read _Falling Man_ by Don DeLillo, again," he said as he joined her on the couch. "But I'm not getting any further this time."

"Don't you like it?" she asked.

Edward sighed. "I don't, but I do. Kind of, but not really. It's hard to explain."

Gray tipped her head to the side, questioningly.

"It's kind of disjointed. It's about a man who survives the collapse of the North Tower on 9/11, but it just . . . feels kind of . . . numb."

"Disjointed and numb are both very accurate words to describe September 11th. It was both of those things."

Edward felt his eyebrows draw together, and he relaxed them. He'd been six on 9/11 and had no memory of it. Did Gray, he wondered? She'd lived in a major city at the time, of course, so her experience would've been different from his.

"It skips around from one point of view to another a lot," he explained of the book. "This is my third time starting it, but . . . it's hard to get inside it, you know? None of the characters feel real. I'd probably have given it up completely if it weren't for one conversation."

"One conversation?" Gray asked, curling further into the couch and resting her head against her palm.

"The main character, he's separated from his wife. His wife's mother is very artistic. The estranged wife and her mother are arguing about the estranged husband. The mother is criticizing him, and the wife snaps—defensive, like—I mean, the guy was just nearly killed, and he is the father of her child—and she confronts her mother, saying that if he were an artist, she'd forgive him anything. That . . . surge of emotion, it's the only part of the book that feels like real people."

"It is powerful." Gray slid closer to him.

Edward agreed and angled himself towards her. "Not enough to justify reading a two-hundred-and-fifty page book, though."

"No. It's not," Gray said, leaning towards him. "I can think of a much better way to spend your time."

"So can I."

Edward leaned forward and reached his hand to her, sliding it into her hair and drawing her to him. When their lips met, the feel of her flooded his senses. He traced the tip of his tongue along her lip, and hers met his. She tasted sweet. Literally. He wouldn't have thought it was possible for a person to have a taste, but Gray did. He wanted to slip his tongue into her mouth and learn every curve, learn if all of her mouth tasted as amazing as her tongue, but when he tried, she moved her mouth to his jaw, over to his ear and down his throat. Edward dropped his head back, and his mouth fell open.

He wrapped his arms around her, moving them over her back from her shoulders to her waist. His blood raced, and his body felt hyper-aware of Gray's touch.

Gray broke their kiss, but she didn't move. She stayed so close their noses brushed. Then she giggled and traced the tip of her nose over his face. Edward reciprocated by placing quick kisses anywhere he could, her jaw, her hair, her temple.

They pressed their foreheads together. Edward was breathing hard. He settled his hands on her hips and pulled her closer. Gray came to him readily, sliding over him, kneeling with one knee on either side of him, her hands on his shoulders, her face so close he felt her cool breath on his skin.

When their lips met again, Edward felt like an inferno had engulfed him. He tried to taste her mouth, but once again she moved her lips to his jaw. He wanted to growl with frustration, but when her tongue played along the shell of his ear, the groan he fought to repress was of a different sort.

His hands were low on her back. She still wore the hooded sweatshirt he'd lent her. He wanted to feel her closer. There was too much between them. He wanted to slide his hands beneath both the sweatshirt and her own sweater, to feel her skin under his palms. He had never felt _want_ like this before.

Gray's arms were around his shoulders. With one arm low around her back and the other braced on the back of the couch, Edward maneuvered them so that she lay on the couch with him above her, half lying, half kneeling. The feeling of Gray beneath him was making it hard for him to think. His head was in a fog. All he was conscious of was how badly he wanted this girl.

"Edward . . . ," she breathed. "We need to slow down. I need to slow down."

Contrary to her words, Gray's mouth never left his skin, but her words served as a bucket of ice water poured over him. He shuddered and breathed deeply. He still wanted her—fuck, did he want her. He squeezed his eyes closed tightly and pressed his forehead against her shoulder.

As his mind slowly came back to him, Edward realized with a horrible jolt what he'd been about to do. It would only have taken one time. He was so hard and so on edge, so close, it would only have taken one time rubbing himself against her and he'd have humiliated himself. Worse, would she ever have forgiven him? She told him only just a few short hours ago that she didn't normally go around kissing guys she'd only just met, and he'd been about to . . . He sat up, but his body felt heavy, sluggish, and he moved shakily.

He began to apologize, but Gray touched his lips, silencing him.

"Don't apologize. Not on my account. I've never been less sorry about anything in my life." She suddenly looked frightened. "Unless . . . you regret. . . ?"

He shook his head and kissed her quickly.

She sagged against him. "Oh, thank goodness," she whispered as she laid her hand on his arm and her head against his chest.

Edward wrapped his arms around her, his fingers running up and down her back. Just sitting like this with Gray in his arms was pretty fucking great, too.

"You know," she said after a minute, "I didn't say stop completely. Just slow down."

.

* * *

.

After a short while spent in each other arms exchanging soft kisses and touches, Edward and Gray reluctantly returned downstairs. It was getting late, and, much as he didn't want to, he'd have to leave soon.

"Can I see your piano?" he asked, glad to have something to give him an extra few minutes with this amazing girl.

"If you'd like."

As Gray led him through the first floor to a large room at the back of the house, Edward was greatly relieved to not encounter any of Gray's family. He was sure his face would turn brick red and give away what they'd been doing.

The room featured two walls dominated by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the huge backyard. There were a number of musical instruments, but the unquestionable focal point was the piano set in one corner. Oriented on a diagonal, it commanded attention and would grant anyone seated at it a sweeping view of the room and backyard. She took a seat on the bench. With her back perfectly straight and her shoulders back, she looked confident and every bit like she belonged there. She motioned for Edward to join her.

Gray might be in her element seated at the beautiful instrument, but Edward felt like a bull in a china shop. He sat down gingerly, straight and still, with his hands on his thighs, afraid to touch anything in case he might somehow ruin it. The piano was made of rich, red-toned wood, highly polished, and both the instrument and bench sat on ornately carved legs. The words "Steinway & Sons" were printed in gilded letters above the keys.

"Breathe, Edward," Gray said with her musical chuckle.

Edward relaxed, but only slightly.

Gray ran her fingers reverently along the wood. "It was my mother's. A wedding gift from my father."

"Seriously?" Edward asked.

Gray touched the keys slowly, letting each note linger before releasing the key and playing another. "I remember sitting next to her, watching her play and wishing I could play like that," she said. "I wish now I'd been a more agreeable student and had not been so difficult about practicing. I wish a lot of things . . . Too late now."

With that, Gray's random playing became deliberate. The song she played was soft and slow. It was beautiful, but also sorrowful in a way. Wistful. Edward had never watched someone play an instrument before, not really play one well at least, and he was mesmerized. He couldn't imagine how she knew what keys to hit. She didn't even have any sheet music. She played from memory, and she made it look as effortless as breathing.

 _So much for not practicing,_ he thought, mentally shaking his head. He could only imagine the number of hours someone would need to devote to practicing to make playing an instrument appear as second nature as she did.

As the last notes died away, Gray lay her hands on her lap.

"That was incredible," Edward said sincerely.

Gray looked at him, and a mischievous lop-sided smile formed on her lips.

"Oh, Edward. You impress far too easily."

Without warning, she raised her hands over the keys and slammed them down four or five times with such force it shocked him, and he felt himself jump. The sound produced was deep and jarring, ominous and intense, the kind of sound that penetrated to your bones. She held her thumb and little finger of both hands on the keys, drawing the notes out before releasing them. She winked at him, then did it again.

Over the next several minutes, Gray's fingers alternately caressed the keys or violently crashed down onto them. There were times when it looked like she was slapping her fingers indiscriminately against the keys, but the music said otherwise. By the time she lay her hands on her lap again, Edward felt like he'd just finished a hard run.

"That was amazing!"

Gray shrugged, but she looked pleased he'd liked it. "It was so-so. I flubbed a few of the most difficult passages rather badly."

"Oh, well in that case . . . ," Edward rolled his eyes. "Clearly, you were right. You didn't practice nearly enough."

Gray laughed.

"Maybe something a little more contemporary than _Herr_ Beethoven this time?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

She struck a single, deep note with her left hand; then, with the sound still carrying on the air, she played two on the right side of the keyboard. As she continued to play, she asked if he recognized the song. Something about it did sound familiar, he thought, but he didn't know any more about classical music than he did about art or mythology.

Gray dropped her head and laughed when he said as much, but she didn't miss a note.

"Classic rock, I'll grant you. But let's wait a couple of hundred years or so before we give it more than that," she said.

Surprised, Edward listened. He still couldn't place the song.

"It's hard, only hearing one instrument, of course. _November Rain_. Guns and Roses."

"Guns and Roses," Edward repeated in surprise. "Are you, um, are you a big fan of theirs?" he asked, his eyebrows drawing together and his mind stuck on her playing Beethoven one minute and Guns and Roses the next.

Gray crinkled her nose adorably as she shook her head. "Just this song."

"My dad plays some of their stuff sometimes. I think he saw them once in Seattle when he was young."

Gray sighed, and her hands fell to her lap. "Your father. Yes, I am too early still, aren't I? Hmm. I'm afraid I don't really know anything much more contemporary right off hand."

"Don't stop playing," Edward said. "I like watching you."

Inordinately happy one moment, she seemed to consider something briefly the next, then said, "There is this. It's a work in progress, though."

The fingers on her left hand were stretched as wide as they could reach, but her hand barely moved, concentrating on the same small area of keys, while the fingers on her right hand slowly danced to the far right side of the keyboard and back again. The song was simple and slow, but it was beautiful, and when Gray lay her hands on her lap after only a minute or two, she pulled her lips between her teeth and looked up at him.

"That was beautiful," Edward said.

Gray looked overjoyed. "It still needs a lot of work, but I think that's basically the backbone of it. It still needs strings and woodwinds, definitely a bit of percussion."

Edward was stunned. "Wait. You mean you're writing it?"

Gray nodded and smiled modestly.

"Actually writing it?" You—you write music? You _wrote_ that?"

"Yes."

"Shouldn't, I mean, shouldn't you have it, like, written down, you know, like, notes and lines and stuff? How do you know what to play?"

"It's a rather simple melody."

"That's . . . God, Gray, that's incredible. I mean," he shook his head, "how . . . how do you do that? How do you come up with. . . ?" Edward was blown away. The longer he spent with Gray, the more extraordinary he learned she was. He had never known anyone anything like her before. She was amazing.

"Just recently, I was fortunate enough to find the most inspiring muse." She looked up at him sideways, and the smile that covered her entire face made Edward's breath catch in his throat. "That particular melody was inspired by the sound of raindrops against a window and the beating of a human heart, and feeling like one's suddenly grown wings and taken flight, soaring high above the clouds. That's where the strings will come in."

"Play it again," Edward requested, and when she did he could hear what she meant. He didn't have a musical bone in his body, but he could hear both the raindrops and the heartbeat she'd said inspired her. He'd never felt emotion from a piece of music before hearing Gray play.

"That—is amazing."

Gray dropped her eyes, but he could see she was pleased. Then, looking enthusiastic, she said, "Play it with me."

"I can't—I can't play music," Edward stammered in surprise. He looked at the wide expanse of keys at a loss, unable to imagine how anyone could know which ones where which, let alone which ones to play.

She waved his denial aside. "Just the first forty-some seconds. You play one of the fingers on the left hand, and I'll play the rest. That part is really very simple. There are only three notes you would need."

Seeing her look at him so hopefully and so eager, he couldn't refuse. He felt his stomach roll with nerves, but he tried to reason with himself that if it was only three notes. . . .

He took a deep breath and listened as she gave him a quick tutorial, showing him the names of the keys—A through G. "Start from the center. Middle C." She pressed a key. "Move two to the left, and you've got A. Notice, the black keys are grouped in two's and three's—two, three, two. Use the black keys to tell you which white key is which note. A is between the second and third black keys, then B," she said as she moved a key to the right, "back to middle C, then D, E, F, G, A, B, C, and so on."

Edward scratched his neck. "You know, that's more than three."

"The only ones you need to worry about, are these." She pressed three keys, naming each one: A, C, and G. "Play the note twice—one, two . . . three, four," she said, counting out the timing. "Just like a heartbeat." She played the notes, naming them again. "A, A . . . A, A . . .C, C . . . A, A."

 _A, A . . . A, A . . .C, C . . . A, A_ , Edward repeated to himself. _A, A . . . A, A . . .C, C . . . A, A_.

"You play them now. A, here," she said, showing him which key.

Focusing more than he ever did on that little plastic recorder from the fourth grade, Edward played the note she showed him.

"Good. Again. Good, now C, C. Right here," she showed him. "Two keys to the right."

He played the note she indicated twice, _C, C,_ repeating in his head.

"Now, A, A, again."

Silently counting two keys to the left—and with a passing thought that he hoped he hadn't moved his lips—Edward concentrated on thinking _A, A_.

"Now, C again. A, A. Right. The only other note you need is G. Immediately to the left of A." She pointed to the key. "Remember to use the black keys to help you remember which white key is which note. A is between the second and third black keys." She indicated the keys. "C is to the right of the first of the two black keys—here. And G is between the first and second of the set of three black keys.

"Okay," Edward said, repeating, _A, A . . .C, C . . .G, G_ , in his head as his eyes moved from key to key.

"Want to try it," she asked, her eyes sparkling.

 _How badly can I fuck up three keys?_ Edward asked himself. He swallowed and nodded his head. _A, A . . .right two, C, C . . .left three, G, G._

Gray readied herself, shifting her position slightly and holding her hands over the keys.

"A, then, on three. Four sets of two. Next is C, two sets of two. Then, back to A for 6 sets. Don't worry about remembering all that, though, I'll tell you which notes to play. Use my left hand to help your timing, but ignore my right hand. It's an entirely different tempo."

"Okay." _A, A . . .right two, C, C . . .left three, G, G._

"On three, then." Gray counted to three, her head dipping on each number. "A," she said.

 _A, A, one. A, A, two. Shit, I'm doing it,_ Edward thought to himself. _A, A, three. A, A, four._

"C," Gray said.

 _Fuck, shit, okay, One, two_ , Edward counted, the tip of his tongue between his lips in concentration, and he moved his eyes two keys to the right. _C, C_ , he said to himself. _Second set, C, C_. He shook his head in frustration. He'd been too slow, he was sure of it. _A, A, next_ , he told himself just as Gray said it out loud. He moved back to A to play the six sets of two. Smoother, he thought. Kind of like playing Simon.

"C, again. Two sets. Then two of A."

Edward felt himself dip his head in acknowledgment _C, C one. C, C two._

He played two sets of A.

"Now G, two sets."

He hummed in response. _One to the left—G, G one, G, G two."_

"Six sets of A, followed by two sets of C."

He nodded his head. _Back one to the right._ Edward counted out the six sets of two, matching his timing to Gray's, then moved another two keys to the right and played two more sets.

Gray lowered her hands. "You've just played the piano," she said with an arched eyebrow and a smile.

"Cool." Then, Edward eagerly said, "Let's do it again."

They played the same forty-some seconds of the song through two more times, but then Edward's phone rang, interrupting the little world of their own they'd created.

"Shit," Edward said as he looked at his phone. It was his father. _Shit, shit, shit._ He didn't have an actual, set curfew, but he'd completely lost track of time, and it was quite a bit later than he'd normally stay out.

When he answered, Edward was surprised how anxious his father sounded and how relieved he was when Edward said he'd just dropped a friend off and would be home soon. But then he thought about his father responding to Mr. Varner's accident on the highway just the day before, and figured it wasn't that surprising he would worry just then when he wouldn't normally.

"He wasn't mad, I hope?" Gray asked worriedly.

"I don't think so, but I better go."

They didn't encounter any of Gray's family as they walked to the front door, and Edward realized he'd stayed well past what might be considered polite, but when he brought it up, she brushed it aside.

She'd been wearing the sweatshirt he'd lent her the whole time they'd been there, but when they reached the front door, she had it neatly folded over her arm.

"Um . . ." He scratched the back of his neck. "Want to do something tomorrow?"

"Yes," she said as they stepped out onto the front porch. Her fingers trailing teasingly down the edge of the flannel shirt he wore, she said, "We have to get down to work if we're going to bring up your trigonometry grade, after all."

Edward's mind had begun to race with the hope of more time spent alone together, but at the mention of doing trig, he deflated, and by the way Gray grinned, he was afraid he'd groaned out loud.

"It's so pointless," he bemoaned as they walked outside. "What do I need trig for to work in forestry?"

"Mathematics is very important in most any profession," she said firmly, the way a particularly zealous teacher might introduce a subject on the first day of school. Standing next to his truck, she held his hoodie out to him. "You should put this on. It's gotten chillier."

Edward did as she said, and then shivered. The hoodie felt cold. Had she been sitting in a draft? He hadn't felt one himself, and they'd been on the opposite side of the room from the door. Maybe there was a vent?

Gray bit her lip, and, looking very nervous, she said how much she'd enjoyed spending the day with him. She reached out and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. "It's been decades since I've enjoyed anything nearly so much."

A quick laugh escaped Edward's lips at the exaggeration. "Me too," he said.

Gray laughed as well. "Is that so?" she asked, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

Then she kissed him.

"I don't want to leave," Edward admitted once he'd caught his breath, his mind swimming with all the things he wanted to do with this girl.

"I don't want you to, but if you were to not return home, I'm sure your father would send out the National Guard, and that would be . . . inconvenient."

Edward laughed.

Appearing to be considering something, Gray pulled her lips between her teeth and let them slowly slip free. Her head lowered, she looked up at him, and the vulnerability in her eyes as she asked him if he would do something for her made Edward want to promise her the moon.

"Gray isn't my real name. It's—it's Grace. Well, Grace Isabella, actually. Except, only my parents—my birth parents, I mean—ever called me that. Well, sometimes Carlisle and Esme will. More Carlisle than Esme, really, although Esme will on occasion. Grace, I mean. Not the full Grace Isabella. Well, unless I was being scolded. And, well, Grandmother, of course. She was, as I mentioned before, rather stern, and hardly one for nicknames as a general rule." She stopped to draw a breath, and she wove her fingers together, twisting them nervously. "I'm rambling, I know. I do apologize. I'm not normally so discomposed."

Edward grinned and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Gray turned towards his hand, and closing her eyes, she nuzzled her face against his palm. The cool breath of a sigh slipped under the wristband of his hoodie, and he felt goosebumps spread along his arm. She was right. The night had gotten colder.

Her face still cupped in his hand, she said, "I'd like it if you were to call me Grace. Everyone else calls me Gray, but you're not just anyone. You're very special to me, Edward."

Edward's heart pounded. He passed his tongue over dry lips. His throat felt tight, and he swallowed. Running his thumb across her cheek, just below her left eye, he took two breaths and said, "You're very special to me, too . . . Grace. That name, it suits you much better."

Looking at him, she said, "I'm far from perfect, Edward. I've got a devil of a temper, and I can be terribly selfish. I was born into a very privileged family, and I'm afraid I wasn't told the word 'no' nearly frequently enough as a child. From my cradle, I was brought up to expect what I wanted—whatever I wanted—to be obtainable. As a result, I grew very headstrong and obstinate. Spoiled, to be perfectly honest. I still can be. I don't tolerate being told I'm wrong on any subject very gracefully. But I do try. Please believe that. I do try. Carlisle is the very best of men, and Esme is kindness itself. They're a redeeming influence on me." Lifting her head, she looked back at the house. She looked back at him, and took both his hands in hers. "There is much you don't know about me, Edward, but I promise I will tell you everything in time. I only ask that you get to know me first, that you see me for how I am in the things that I can control, before you see those that I cannot. I will tell you now that I have done things I am ashamed to have done. A great many of them. I admit that openly, and I am sorry for them. But no matter what anyone else tells you, I swear to you from the bottom of my heart, I have never injured an innocent person, either through intent or carelessness. No innocent person has ever been harmed by my existence. Of that, I give you my solemn vow."

Edward blinked rapidly in surprise. "Um, okay," he said, perplexed. With an awkward little chuckle, he said, "No one's ever been, um, harmed by my, um, existence either."

She spoke in a strained voice. "There will be those who will try to turn you against me. People you trust. They will want you far away from me. They will tell you things, try to poison you against me."

Perfectly serious now, Edward gripped her by the shoulders. "Let them try," he said with so much vehemence he practically growled it.

.

* * *

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Thanks for reading! Hope to see you back in two weeks!

Teaser for chapter 9—which just so happens to be one of my favorite chapters—on Facebook group Twilight FanFiction Pays it Forward. Gray learns something major and has to decide what to do and where loyalties lie!

Author's notes:

Early women architects in the state of Washington:

Born in 1897, Elizabeth Ayer grew up on a farm in Olympia, Washington. Her interest in mathematics and art led her to pursue architecture at the University of Washington. She was the fourth student and the first woman to graduate from the university's new architecture program, graduating in 1921.

In 1930, Ayer became the first woman to be licensed as an architect in the state.

In the early '40s, when she was an eighth-grader in West Seattle, Jane Hastings wrote about what she was going to be when she grew up. The composition prompted the teacher to keep her pupil after school.

"I just don't want to see you hurt,'' the woman confided. "They'll never let you be an architect.''

At that time, probably only two women were architects in the state.

Five years later, Hastings found herself the only female in a University of Washington architecture class of 200.

In 1953, Hastings became an architect - the eighth woman to do so since the state began licensing in 1919.

.

 _Like the dew on the mountain,_

 _Like the foam on the river,_

 _Like the bubble on the fountain,_

 _Thou art gone and forever._

Excerpt from Sir Walter _Scott's_ _The Lady of the Lake_

 _._

The Hard Rain Cafe is a real place.

.

I don't pretend to be an expert on Greek mythology. The Judgment of Paris is mentioned in the Lady Emily series from Tasha Alexander, I can't remember which book in particular, and I really liked it. The other paintings, I just Googled info on.

.

The songs Gray plays are Claire de Lune, Bethoven's 5th Symphony, Guns N Roses _November_ _Rain_ , and _Bella's_ _Lullaby_. I watched it in tutorials I don't know how many times and got the letter notes, as opposed to the sheet music, online. But, I understand there is more than one version of the song, especially in the beginning.


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

.o.

This story is set in 2012.

.o.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

.o.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

* * *

 _.o._

 _Chapter 9_

Gray arrived in the trees behind Edward's house just as he arrived in front of it himself.

Being with Edward would mean overcoming difficulties she'd never anticipated, but that could be faced tomorrow. For tonight, she would allow herself time to just enjoy what she'd finally found. The moment Edward's truck had disappeared into the forest surrounding their house, she'd let herself fall backwards, her arms spread out to her sides, landing on her back and staring up at the mostly cloudy sky with a drunken grin on her face. Her family had gathered around her, full of approving thoughts and words regarding her mate—all except Rosalie, of course, but that her sister had reserved her censure for another time was all Gray could've hope for. Gray had basked in the moment, but once she'd heard Edward's tires hit the blacktop of the highway, she'd left her family and sprinted into to trees to follow him. She might have to wait until tomorrow to be with him again, but not to simply be nearer to him. However, like hot glass under cold water, her euphoria had been shattered by what had confronted her three miles outside of Forks, when she'd heard the hate-filled thoughts of two minds and the broken but clearly terror-filled thoughts of a third. Not only would she not be permitted to put off facing the obstacles in front of her until tomorrow, but those obstacles were far greater than she'd known. Of the first two minds, one she'd become familiar with already, while the other she was hearing for the first time. The third was Edward's father. The senior Swan had company, but unlike his muffled thoughts, those of his guests were being screamed at her. And what they were telling her had her swearing for the second time in her existence.

The wolves had not kept to their side of the bargain their forefathers had struck with her family. They'd revealed the truth of what her family was to Edward's father. He _knew_.

Murderous with fury, Gray had left a trail of destruction behind her from the moment that truth became known to her. Nearly three miles of pulverized spruce bore testament to what she would have liked to have done to the wolves. But Gray was not an impulsive newborn. Nor was she an immature mongrel, like the one seated in the lower level of Edward's home, champing at the bit for a fight. Greatly alarmed, Gray listened to his thoughts. Her scent would be all over Edward, and she couldn't be completely sure the young Quileute could control himself. Cautiously, she crept closer to the edge of the trees, ready to react should she believe Edward was in danger.

Edward's father had heard the truck's thunder-like engine as it pulled up in front of the house, and he leapt to his feet. The limited thoughts she could hear from him were incoherent with relief. Gray filled with guilt for not having considered what changing Edward would mean for his father as Rosalie's words from earlier that day came back to her, unsettlingly full of both foresight and hindsight in equal parts.

" _Don't make any rash decisions you can't take back."_

The Quileute boy's mind was fixed on her family and envisioning his pack chasing them all the way to the East Coast. The new mind was apparently that of the boy's father, a Quileute Elder and a close friend of Edward's father. To his thinking, her family was representative of the greatest evil on Earth. It was clear he looked upon Edward as family, and he was cursing the fact that his friend had married Edward's mother rather than one of the Quileute women whose names and faces passed through his mind. Had Edward had Quileute blood, he would know what monsters her family and she were.

Edward's father took the stairs from the home's lower level to the front door two at a time, judging by the sound and number of his footsteps, and he yanked the door open as Edward climbed the front steps. Gray could hear the surprise in Edward's voice as he asked his father what was wrong.

"Nothing," his father answered much too quickly, contradicting the word. "Nothing," he said again, sounding much more in control.

"O—kay," Edward responded, drawing the word out skeptically. "I'm sorry I was out so late without letting you know," he said as he stepped into the house. "Lost track of time."

The very moment he detected her scent, Gray heard the immediate escalation of hostility in the Quileute boy's mind, and his footsteps stormed across the room. Her body tensed for a fight, and she balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to spring forward.

"Where've you been?" he demanded of Edward.

Gray moved closer to the house. Were someone to look out their back window, the darkness would be more of a cover to her than the trees, she was now so close to their end and the beginning of Edward's backyard.

"What's it to you?" Edward snapped his at friend as he walked down the stairs to the home's lower level. "Sam give you permission to leave, or you AWOL?"

After the events earlier in the day, both adrenaline and testosterone were flooding the young Quileute's system. He was like a live wire. Rather impressively, however, he did appear in control of himself. Already crouched, Gray leaned her weight forward, just in case.

"You were at the Hoh?" his father asked with poorly masked tension in his voice.

"Yeah," Edward answered, his own voice showing he heard the strain in his father's. "What's going on?" he asked.

The older Quileute man answered him with a ready lie. "Emily Young was attacked by a bear today," he said.

So, that was what the tribe had decided on. Bear attacks were very rare, but as a cover, it would do well, Gray agreed. What surprised her was that Edward's father believed it. He knew about the wolves, and he knew not only that vampires were real in a general sense, but he specifically knew about her family. He did not, however, know the truth about the day's events.

"No way," Edward said, sounding as if all the air left his lungs with those two words. "A bear?" he asked, his voice full of disbelief. "What—what happened? Is she okay?"

"She's hurt pretty bad, but she'll recover."

All was quiet for several seconds until Edward asked, stammering in his surprise, "But what, I mean that's so . . . What happened?"

The two Quileutes evaded the question, and Edward's father did not press for details like his son. Edward let the matter go.

"Who all went down to the Hoh?" his father asked, sounding desperate for something normal.

"I went with that girl we met last night, Gray Cullen. Actually, she said her name's really Grace. She's . . . God, she's just . . . I mean, she's amazing."

While she loved what she was hearing, Gray felt very much like a peeping Tom, and she hated listening in on what Edward believed was a private conversation, but it could not be helped. The two Quileutes' thoughts were murderous. While the young wolf had already known Edward had been with her by her scent on him, to learn they'd been somewhere relatively isolated and alone had him shaking with rage.

"What's your problem?" Edward snapped.

In complete contrast to how soundlessly he'd raced through the woods, the Quileute boy's heavy footsteps thundered across the room, moving toward the back of the house.

Hurriedly, Gray slid deeper into the forest; the dark would be no protection from his eyes. Vertical blinds hung in front of sliding glass doors leading to the backyard, and with the light behind him, she could see the boy through the slats. He pressed his palms against the glass and concentrated on steadying his breathing, but his arms were trembling.

All was quiet—verbally, at least—inside the house for several of the longest seconds of Gray's existence until the elder Quileute spoke slowly and softly, the way a parental figure would deliver bad news to a child. "Son, I've known you since the day you were born. I don't think it's a good idea for you to be spending time with those—Cullens, they call themselves? Especially not alone." Gray had heard different versions of the words gone over and debated in the man's head before he spoke.

"Excuse me?" Edward asked.

"Stay away from that filthy—" the younger Quileute began to spit out, but his words were cut off abruptly as he checked himself before finishing his outburst with the word "leech."

"Who the hell do—" Edward responded, but his father interrupted him.

"They're right," he said in a voice hoarse with emotion. His heartrate had accelerated dramatically when he'd learned whom his son had been with. "Billy's right," he repeated. "I don't want you around them."

When Edward responded, he started to speak but stopped three times before saying, "I can't believe you. I just met the most amazing girl, and you all . . ." His voice trailed off before adding, incredulously, "Oh, my God."

Edward stormed up the stairs to the home's main floor, and the young wolf followed him, calling out to him only to be ignored.

The two fathers remained on the lower level.

"Don't worry, Charlie. We'll make sure it knows to stay away from him, if it knows what's good for it." the Quileute man said to Edward's father.

Other than a roll of her eyes, Gray ignored the man in favor of his son. Upstairs, the Quileute boy followed Edward through the home toward his bedroom.

"Dammit, Edward! Listen to me!"

"Get the fuck away from me."

With those words, Edward slammed his bedroom door shut behind him. The wolf's first instinct was to open the door and barge in, but, his hand already on the knob, he stopped himself. Frustrated, he pounded a fist against the wall.

Gray could hear Edward kick the clothes laying on his bedroom floor while the younger Quileute tried to talk to him through the door.

"Jacob, your dad's ready to go," Edward's father said to the boy. "It's been a long day, and he's pretty tired."

The boy's thoughts were conflicted between talking some sense into his friend and getting his father home. His father was almost always tired anymore, even on a good day, he thought to himself, and it had been anything but a good day. "Yeah, okay," he agreed. "Try not to worry too much, Charlie."

Edward's father scoffed. What little Gray could hear of his thoughts were tortured. The knowledge that his son had been alone with her had filled him with abject terror.

"We kept 'em in line last time they were here. We'll do it again," the young Quileute promised.

That time, it was Gray who scoffed.

"My scent's all over this place. They won't come near the house," the young Quileute said. "Or either of you. You're safe."

That managed to assuage Edward's father's fears to a degree, but it didn't alleviate them entirely.

"I mean it, Charlie," the boy vowed. "We'll keep you both safe."

Gray continued to monitor the three men, but in a much more peripheral way now that they were no longer in Edward's immediate presence. Edward's father saw the two out through the garage door, avoiding the stairs. After a long, hushed conversation Gray heard every word of, the two Quileutes drove off, leaving him standing alone in the driveway. Like a hunted man, he cast his eyes around furtively before turning back toward the house and going inside. Gray listened to his thoughts, little though she could hear of them. Unsurprisingly, he was hell bent on doing whatever it took to keep his son away from her family.

By contrast, the two Quileutes' minds were even louder now that they were alone. Both were fuming over her family's return and just as resolved that she would never come near Edward again.

The phone in her pocket vibrated, and pulling it out, she saw Edward's name. The corners of her mouth turned upward. The twenty-first century definitely had its advantages. He had texted her to warn her there'd been a bear attack not far away. _So thoughtful of him_ , she thought to herself with a small chuckle, her smile spreading. _Utterly unnecessary, of course, but thoughtful._

Gray responded, smirking as she thanked him and assured him her family was capable of handling bears.

She replaced her phone in her pocket and sighed, her amusement at the idea of her needing protection against a bear—real or otherwise—quickly fading. Inside the Swan residence, Edward's father was gearing up for the fight of his life to persuade Edward to not have any more contact with her.

Gray's eyes narrowed in thought as she wondered why the father had been brought in on the secret but not the son, especially under the circumstances. What easier way could there be to poison him against her than to tell him she was the evil incarnate they all believed her family to be? Were they to do that, any chance she might stand of ever earning Edward's affections would be gone in an instant. She couldn't be certain about his father, but the idea had never so much as passed through either Quileute's mind.

Why?

Gray strummed her fingers along the tree bark. She turned her head in the direction of the Quileute reservation. The two Quileutes would be outside her range of hearing soon. She turned back toward the Swan home and sighed, resigned. Ethically, with the two Quileutes gone, and the threat they represented to Edward's safety removed, eavesdropping on his private conversation with his father would be unjustifiable, she knew. On a more practical note, she stood a much better chance of getting information from the tribe than from Edward's father—all those irate minds screaming at her versus one terrified mind filled with thoughts she could only grasp fragments of.

Gray touched her fingers to her lips in a silent "Good-bye for now . . ." to her mate before sprinting through the trees toward La Push.

.o.

* * *

.o.

Edward lay on his bed looking up at the ceiling, thinking about the past twenty-four or so hours.

One minute, he'd been waiting for his father to arrive at the diner and telling himself he'd needed to get over that ridiculous crush on Leah. He remembered, he'd wished there was a girl whose eyes crinkled in just the right way when she smiled at him, and the next minute he'd seen Grace standing at the back of a shiny black car. And her eyes had crinkled in just the right way. Of course, that had been because he'd dropped food onto himself . . . But then today, when he'd asked her to go to the Hoh with him, she'd said yes, and she'd smiled at him like that again, and fuck, it had been the best day ever. Never in his life had he thought he'd enjoy hearing someone talk about art and music—and Greek mythology, of all things! Edward rolled over and laughed. Grace just knew so much, and she'd talked about it with so much excitement, she'd completely drawn him in. And for some crazy reason, she'd genuinely seemed to like being with him too. She'd said he was special to her.

But she'd also warned him people would try to turn him against her, and she'd been right. No sooner had he stepped into the house than exactly that had happened. Grace had admitted to him there were things she'd done that she was ashamed of, but she'd given him no idea what those things were. Were they something his father, as Chief of Police, might've found out about? His father was a fair minded man, and so were Jake and Billy. Rationally, Edward knew that for them all to be so adamantly against her family, there would have to be a good reason. Had his father learned something about Grace's family? But why would he have looked into their past? Had someone called in to the station with information? Maybe it was something local law enforcement needed to be informed of when they moved to a new place? If that was the case, why wouldn't his father just have said as much? He certainly had to Billy and Jake.

There was a knock on his door, and his father said his name. Edward sat up. He'd only known Grace for one day, but in that one day she'd become special to him, too.

.o.

* * *

.o.

Gray roamed the darkened streets of Forks. It was late enough to be considered very early, and the vast majority of the population of the city was asleep. Only insomniacs and those who had no choice but to be awake at that hour on a Sunday morning were so. She could return to her position in the trees behind Edward's home to be nearer to him now without the risk of intruding on his privacy.

She'd spent hours perched in the trees two miles north of La Push. The entirety of the village being only one square mile, every one of its residents had been within her range of hearing, and they'd given her plenty to listen to. Now, she had to decide what to do with what they'd told her. What she'd learned that night directly affected every member of her family, but it also had the potential to shatter Edward's world, were her family to know it.

She'd hunted before following the Bogacheil river back toward Forks and now walked slowly along South Forks Ave. A number of buildings she remembered from her first residency in the area still stood along the southern end of the town's main street, and as she passed the Odd Fellows Hall, she could almost see Edward's great-grandparents escorting the children who would become his grandparents into the building in their Sunday best for one social gathering or another.

Gray slipped back into the woods and settled in the fifty-foot high boughs of a tree at the very edge of the forest behind Edward's house. The stench of dog that wafted up to her was considerably stronger than it had been previously. The pack had taken the word of the one named Jacob to heart and had patrolled the area heavily in her absence.

All was dark inside the Swan home. Edward's breathing was slow and steady. He sounded to be deeply asleep. His father, on the other hand, tossed and turned. He thrashed and kicked as if in a fight before awaking with a start, a strangled sounding, "Edward!" breaking the silence. He lay still and quiet for several seconds before rising and shuffling the few feet from his room to his son's, where he slowly cracked the door open and peeked inside. He let out a breath, then pulled the door shut again. He didn't move immediately, but rather stayed there, just outside his son's bedroom, mentally cursing her family for ever setting foot within a hundred miles of his son. When he did leave, he did not return to his own room. He continued down the hallway and flipped on the kitchen light. A cupboard opened, then the refrigerator, followed by the hum of the microwave. Chair legs scraped across a vinyl floor, and Edward's father sat down heavily, the argument he'd had with his son as a result of his attempt to warn him away from her replaying in his mind.

Edward sighed loudly and turned over in his bed. If he had been sleeping when she'd arrived, as she'd thought, he no longer was. His breathing was not the same easy rhythm it had been before; it had become agitated. Every breath he drew led Gray to believe he was thinking about their argument as well.

Hearing the evidence of discord between Edward and his father, and knowing she was the cause of it, left Gray with a heavy heart. Despite the hazy quality of her human memories, she knew her parents and she had argued that last year over her intention to become a nurse and volunteer for military service, and she regretted it bitterly. Arguments had eaten up so much of the precious little time they'd had left together.

 _Those foolish, foolish dogs!_

She would give them a piece of her mind and hope they choked on it. How they could have been so thoughtless, she could not think. But as much as she would enjoy giving the dogs a good telling off, that would not undo the damage they had done. What to do about that damage was of far greater importance.

Gray was in an unbearable position. Not telling her family what she'd come to learn that night was not an option—not only because her duty to her family forbade it, but also because she did not think there was any possibility Edward's father would not give the show away himself the very instant he set eyes on any of them. She was ashamed to admit that were it not for that simple, unavoidable fact, she could not be sure she would tell her family, duty or no duty.

A segment of conversation between two characters in one of her favorite books passed through her mind. A young woman on the verge of a life-altering decision spoke to another, older woman.

" _Between one desire and another, how is one to know which things are really of overmastering importance?"_

" _We can only know that when they have overmastered us."_

Well, Gray reflected, she had been well and truly overmastered. It was an equally exhilarating and terrifying sensation.

Edward's father leaned back in his chair. She could hear the creaking of the wood as his weight was repositioned.

What hope did she have of ever making Edward's father understand she and her family were not the monsters his friends had him believing they were?

And _that_ , she suddenly realized, had to have been at the heart of the pack's decision not to tell Edward's father the truth of how that young woman had been injured—they hadn't wanted to put themselves into a position to have to admit she'd helped them.

That was good. That gave her a starting place. A seemingly innocently asked question about how the young lady was recovering and a well wish for the Alpha's leg would allow her to set the record straight in a way that wouldn't seem as if there were an ulterior motive behind it—if she could manufacture an opportunity to speak to the man alone.

Gray didn't delude herself that Edward's father would suddenly think she was wonderful, but hopefully, it was a start at having him at least not think she was evil incarnate. And, as was often the case, having gotten one idea, another followed on its footsteps.

Feeling marginally better at having a plan of action, she allowed herself one last minute of being close enough to Edward to hear his heartbeat before wishing him sweet dreams and sprinting back to the house. She needed to borrow Esme's sketching supplies.

.o.

* * *

.o.

Charlie Swan was up with the sun. He'd been up all night, really. He scrubbed his hands over his face before throwing off the blankets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. But then, he just sat there. He dropped his head into his hands and prayed. Eighteen hours ago, he wouldn't have been able to guess when the last time he'd prayed had been—and he didn't know if he even believed there was anyone to hear him—but he fell back on it now the way people often did when they were afraid.

Afraid. If that wasn't the fucking understatement of the century. . . .

Charlie forced himself to his feet; then, he forced his feet to move. God, he could hardly feel his legs. He showered, but he couldn't feel the heat of the water. It could've been scalding for all he knew. He dressed, but he didn't bother to shave. He made his way to the kitchen and made coffee, but the smell made him feel sick, and he poured it down the sink.

The smell of coffee had made Renee sick to her stomach when she'd been pregnant with Edward, he remembered. That, and the smell of raw red meat. That had been their unwitting pregnancy test. She'd opened a package of raw hamburger and been sick in the kitchen sink seconds later.

Charlie ran the water and rinsed that last of the coffee down the drain.

He didn't know what to do next. He couldn't think.

The sun had been up for just over half an hour, and as he stood and stared out the kitchen window, the sky brightened. But then, the sun dipped behind the clouds, and the backyard and trees slipped into shadow.

Without warning, the sort of numb stupor he'd been in gave way to a nervous restlessness. His hands shook, and he felt jumpy with the need to do something. He checked the oil and the tire pressure on his police cruiser and Edward's truck. He cleaned his service revolver and his and Edward's hunting rifles.

Hunting. Charlie's stomach twisted. When Edward had tried to tell him just how great _that girl_ was last night, he'd said she'd told him she hunted and that she hoped they could go out together some time. Charlie forced himself to breath slow, deep breaths and concentrated on settling the fire burning in his gut. Dammit, he'd known something hadn't been right about those two the other night! The hair on the back of his neck had stood up when he'd seen _that_ _girl_ looking at his son, but he'd told himself he was being ridiculous.

A pile of wood for the fireplace lay in one corner of the garage, waiting to be split. He went out to the shed in the backyard for the old wheelbarrow and an ax. He needed to do something physical, to swing something, to hit something, to break it to pieces.

A few feet inside the woods was a leveled off old stump he used to split firewood, and Charlie positioned the first of the rounds on it. He gripped the ax handle firmly and choked up before taking a deep breath and swinging it down onto the wood with all his strength. He swung again and again, and the round split through. Over and over, he swung the ax, and the round split into wedges and fell to the ground.

Charlie took a deep breath and wiped his arm across his forehead. He picked up a piece of the split wood, about to toss it into the wheelbarrow, when a noise behind him caught his attention and he looked over his shoulder.

 _That girl_ was standing behind him.

He sucked in a sharp breath and shouted, "Jesus Christ!" He spun around and stumbled backwards. He tripped over his own feet and fell, dropping the ax and the wood, and hitting his arm on the edge of the old, steel wheelbarrow. Charlie scrambled away, his heart thundering in his chest. His eyes darted around them, frantically searching for a sign that one of the wolves was nearby; although he knew that if that had been the case, the creature would not have shown herself.

"I apologize, Chief Swan, sir. Given the circumstances, I saw no need to keep up pretenses," she said. "It was not my intention to frighten you."

Charlie went cold. He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed hard and fast through clenched teeth. He remembered very clearly the warning Billy's father had given him after he'd been brought in on the truth of the Quileute legends—if the Cold Ones ever found out he knew their secret, they wouldn't hesitate to kill him. His insides seized. The creatures had found out he knew what they were. He didn't know how, but they had. This was the end. He thought of Edward—Edward as a baby, as a little boy, in grade school, then junior high and high school. He thought of every milestone he'd seen his son accomplish and everything he wouldn't get to see. Charlie's eyes burned. His throat and chest felt so tight, it was hard to inhale, and he felt out of breath. At least, Charlie told himself, the creature had left Edward out of it and had waited until he was alone to strike.

"Edward knows nothing," he gritted out through his teeth. "Leave my son alone."

Helpless and hopeless, Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and waited to die. What was that creature dragging it out for? Did she enjoy seeing him suffer?

"I am not going to hurt you, Chief Swan. Nor will I allow anyone else to do so."

Charlie's eyes flew open, and he looked directly at the creature in front of him.

"I give you my word," she said. "You may not think that's worth anything, but I assure you, you can believe it." She twisted her fingers together and shifted from foot to foot. "Of course, I realize, my assurance will carry no more weight than my word."

His police training kicking in involuntarily, Charlie studied the girl in front of him. If he didn't know just how absurd the idea was, he'd swear she was just as afraid of him as he was of her.

She walked slowly toward him. "May I take a look at your arm?" she asked hesitantly, indicating his left arm.

Charlie looked at his arm. The flannel shirt he wore was torn, and he was bleeding. He cradled his injured arm against his chest and ordered her to stay away from him, even though he knew the futility of it. His eyes continued to dart around, but there was nothing but empty woods. The ax lay within his reach, but he knew it would be useless against the creature. He swallowed hard. Where were the wolves! Jacob had promised the pack would keep these creatures away from them!

"As you wish," she said, looking disappointed as she lowered her hand. In her other hand she held a book of some kind with a plain, dark brown cover, and she set it down on the old stump. "I wanted to give you this. I thought you might like it."

Charlie looked at the girl incredulously. What was she playing at?

The creature bit her lip, and Charlie got a glimpse of the perfectly white teeth he knew would be sharper than any razor. He shivered and reached out for the ax. Futile or not, he would go down swinging.

"My family and I are not the monsters your friends have taught you we are, Chief Swan. I hope, one day, you can believe that. I am just a seventeen-year-old girl who, once, had her entire life in front of her. But then the influenza struck, and my world crashed around me.

"I lost my parents. In a single day, from morning to night, my mother went from a vibrant, healthy woman to her deathbed. It wasn't until months later that the pandemic hit in full force. It was," she paused, "indescribably horrible." The girl wrapped her arms around herself and lowered her eyes. Her voice was soft and sorrowful. "Every day that passed, more homes had doors hung with black crepe. My father fell ill three months after my mother's death, and day by day, I watched him grow worse. All I could do was nurse him and pray, but I knew it was futile. The signs were unmistakable. Before my father died, I fell ill with the influenza as well. Carlisle had been a friend of my parents' for some years by then. My father's dying request was to Carlisle, that he save me, and he honored that request."

Charlie stared at the girl in front of him.

"I do not regret what he did. I never have. Not truly. It is difficult, yes, and our lives may be far from ideal, but it is better than the alternative. There is a great deal lost to me, but I have also gained much. I have seen so much that was unthinkable during my human lifetime."

Something grabbed painfully at Charlie's chest as the creature openly admitted she was not human, and he flinched.

"I have had the opportunity to study a variety of subjects from some of the world's greatest universities and gone from being the only girl to seeing them make up half the class. I have seen women fight for and win the right to vote, and I have seen them fight for the presidency. I hope to see them win that, too, before long. But it is always _them_ , never _us_. Never _we_."

The creature's eyes moved to stare at something behind him, and she fell silent, almost seeming to forget what she'd been saying. Charlie felt a wave of relief sweep over him. He looked, fully expecting to see Jacob or one of the other pack members charging across the backyard like a Sherman tank, but there was nothing there. The yard was empty.

"I have more than one degree in medicine," the creature said, returning her attention to him. "I do wish you would let me take a look at your arm. The wound is dirty, and the edge of that old wheelbarrow is rusty. Do you know when your last Td or Tdap booster was? It's recommended for adults once every ten years."

Charlie gaped at her.

The creature's eyes returned to the backyard. She saw or heard something that he could not, Charlie felt sure, and whatever that something was, it rattled her. Charlie could only hope it was one of the wolves. He couldn't imagine anything else that would unsettle the creature as badly as she clearly had been.

In a manner Charlie recognized as someone striving to appear in control but failing to pull it off, the creature said, "I hope Miss Young is on the road to recovery. Her injuries are quite severe, but I did not observe any obvious signs of irreparable damage."

"Now just what do you know about that?" Charlie demanded. Were these creatures responsible for what had happened to Emily? If they had been hunting and chased that bear toward La Push—

Charlie rose to his feet, the ax in his hand. It was stupid, he knew. The creature could kill him faster than he could even raise the ax—not that he would injure her even if he had time to swing it—but dying on his feet sounded better than dying on the ground.

The creature looked at him briefly. She appeared brokenhearted. Charlie tightened his grip on the ax handle. He couldn't let any sob story of a dying girl blind him. What stood in front of him now was not that girl—what stood in front of him now was a monster.

Seeing her tragic tale had not gotten her anywhere, the creature's demeanor changed, became less sympathy-seeking and more resolute, even as her eyes continued to flicker toward the backyard.

"The young man—Sam, she called him—mustn't blame himself. There will likely be very significant scarring, but when one considers how very close they both came to being killed . . . I am glad I was close enough to reach them in time to assist the young man in fighting the other two off. He truly should not blame himself. It was pure bad luck the young woman was standing so close to him when he phased."

Charlie's body felt like it had turned to lead. Billy had told him Emily had been attacked by a bear, but this creature made it sound like it had been . . . something else entirely.

When he could form the words, he asked, "The other two what?"

"Vampires."

The sound of Charlie's heartbeat pounding in his ears was like waves crashing against the side of a cliff. "Like you," he accused, spitting the words at her.

The creature lowered her eyes, and when she raised them again, she shook her head. "No, sir. Not in the least like us."

The ax slipped from Charlie's fingers; they were too weak to keep their grip on it. The world spun around him. When the creature spoke again, it sounded like she was speaking underwater. He couldn't understand a word she said. The creature came to him and put her hand on his back. In his mind, he recoiled away from her, but he couldn't make his body respond. She guided him to the old stump and helped him to sit, and though his skin crawled at her touch, he was powerless to resist.

Not in the least like them, the creature had said. Billy had told him this group of vampires swore they fed only from animals, that they did not hunt humans, and that that was why his grandfather had agreed to the treaty they'd requested. Their eyes were golden, rather than the red of the rest of their kind. That was how his grandfather had known they were different, why he'd let them live. Charlie looked at the girl kneeling next to him. Her eyes were the color of honey.

A thought occurred to Charlie. He wasn't about to take this creature's word for anything, but he couldn't disregard it outright. Assuming what she had told him was true, why hadn't the other wolves been the ones to help Sam? How had it been that this creature had been closer to them than the other wolves had been? What had she been doing so close to La Push? And why would she attack two of her own kind?

He confronted her with the questions.

"James and Victoria were not 'my kind,'" she responded adamantly, not answering what she had been doing so close to La Push.

He pressed the question again.

She didn't answer right away, and when she did, she did so reluctantly, saying only that Sam and Emily had not been near La Push at the time.

If there was one thing over twenty years as a cop had taught Charlie, it was when a suspect was hiding something.

"Where were they?" he asked.

Again, the creature didn't respond. She wouldn't look at him, but rather kept her eyes fixed on a spot somewhere behind him.

Cold dread crept up Charlie's spine at the creature's unwillingness to answer the question.

"Where, dammit!"

The girl flinched, but her eyes never left whatever it was they had focused on.

"On a trail through the woods," she answered evasively.

Charlie's heart seized in his chest, and he broke out in a cold sweat. The fact that Edward had been on a trail through the woods on his run yesterday morning was his sole thought.

The creature's eyes widened with a look of abject horror. She didn't move a muscle, not even when the sun slipped out from behind the clouds, and rays of its light shone through the trees and refracted off her skin in countless prisms. For more than two minutes, she was as still as a statue until she rose slowly to her feet and staggered a few steps.

"A trail through the woods— _where_?" Charlie pled. It didn't surprise him when she didn't answer. "Dammit! My son was—"

The creature winced badly. Her expression held such agony, Charlie thought she looked like he felt.

"Please," he begged, "My son—"

"North of Forks," she said, sounding badly dazed. "I don't know precisely how far, but at least seven miles." She swallowed. "I didn't know. . . ."

What had happened to the other two? Charlie wanted to ask but he couldn't form the words. They were right there, on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't get them passed his lips. Had the pack taken care of the two who had attacked Emily and Sam? Had they only chased them away? Could they still be out there? Could they come back?

A sudden and complete change came over the creature next to him. Her arms had hung limply at her sides, but now her fingers clenched and flexed, and her entire body tensed. The muscles in her jaw moved as if she were grinding her teeth, and her lips curled. Her eyes narrowed and glared hatefully. "They are cinders and ashes. They will never threaten him again," she snarled with loathing so vehement Charlie knew he'd never forget it. He sagged with relief.

She looked down at him, and her face relaxed. She spoke in a soft, soothing voice that was as gentle as her previous words had been hard. Her body, however, was still just as rigid. "Please forgive me, Chief Swan. I truly had not intended to frighten you, and I apologize for having done so. I only wished to speak to you personally and give you the book. Please excuse me." Without another word, the girl slipped into the woods, moving with the grace of a gazelle and the speed of a cheetah.

Charlie stared in the direction she had gone for he didn't know how long. The creature was gone, but what she'd told him remained. He ran a hand over his face. His vision clouded, and grew darker around the edges, the darkness creeping inward. Waking nightmares ran wild in his head. He was living a nightmare, there was no other word for it, and there wasn't one fucking thing he could do about it.

Billy had told him it was a bear that had attacked Emily. But it hadn't been—monster or not, Charlie believed what the girl had told him. Two of her kind were responsible . . . two who weren't . . . who hadn't been hunting any bear. And who had been just a few miles away from his son. Charlie shivered. His stomach turned, and his hands shook. When he stood, his legs were unsteady beneath him, and as he left the woods he braced himself against the nearest tree more than once. "Cinders and ashes," the creature had said. He believed that, too. Her tone left no room for doubt. Thank God for that.

Charlie crossed the backyard with his eyes on the ground, watching his feet take step after step. The backyard seemed several times longer than it was, and he felt like it took forever before he reached the house. Finally inside, he closed the door behind him and leaned heavily against it. He bolted it, not that a deadbolt would do a damned bit of good, he knew

.o.

* * *

Author's Notes:

AWOL - Away Without Leave – originally a military term for someone leaving without permission, but now used commonly for anyone who isn't where they're supposed to be.

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wiki/Bear_attack

According to an article published in the The Journal of Emergency Medicine, there were 162 bear-inflicted injuries reported in the United States between 1900 and 1985. This constitutes approximately two reported bear-inflicted injuries per year. Likewise, it's been reported that during the 1990s bears killed around three people a year in the U.S. and Canada, as compared to the 15 people killed every year by dogs. Multiple reports remark that one is more likely to be struck by lightning than to be attacked by a bear when outdoors; around 90 people are killed by lightning each year.

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The Odd Fellows is one of the oldest fraternal societies. In British English, it's often written as one word. The reason for the name Odd Fellows is unknown, but theories include that at the time of its foundation in the 1700s in England, the larger trades organized into similar fraternal societies, and the original Odd Fellows were men who worked in various, smaller odd trades.

The Odd Fellows Hall was a real building on North Forks Ave. It was on the northern end of Forks Ave, which is the main street that runs right through Forks, but it was saved from the fire in 1951. It was directly next to the Dazzled by Twilight gift store and dated to about 1925. Both buildings burned to the ground on October 29, 2012.

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" _Between one desire and another, how is one to know which things are really of overmastering importance?"_

" _We can only know that when they have overmastered us."_

Quote from _Gaudy Night_ , Dorothy L. Sayers. Harriet Vane speaking to Miss de Vine. This is one of my favorite books.

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Tdap is a combination vaccine that protects against three potentially life-threatening bacterial diseases: tetanus, diphtheria, and pertussis (whooping cough). Td is a booster vaccine for tetanus and diphtheria.


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

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This story is set in 2012.

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A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

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 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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 _Chapter 10_

Through the window in the workout room they'd set up in the third bedroom, Edward saw his father cross the yard. He finished his workout with two sets of triceps curls and replaced the dumbbell on the rack. He did his cool-down stretches by rote, his mind far more on the inexplicable and unjustifiable hostility his father and their closest friends held for Grace and her family than on what he was doing. He'd hoped to work out his resentment through some weight training, but it hadn't worked. Even though his muscles ached and burned after yesterday morning's six-mile run, it hadn't been enough to turn off the reruns of the argument they'd had the night before that kept playing inside his brain.

Edward sat on the weight bench, his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging limply, and stared at the wall opposite him. He'd have liked to have gone for a good, long run, but after yesterday's six-miles, he knew his body needed a rest day. He picked up a hand towel and ran it over his face, then threw it across the room in frustration. He fumed silently before standing and retrieving it.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, Edward could hear his father talking on the phone in harsh-sounding whispers that cut off abruptly in rushed and repeated, "I gotta go"s. The assumption that he'd been the subject of a heated conversation between his father and, he presumed, Billy did nothing to improve Edward's mood, and stepping into the kitchen, he went straight to the refrigerator without looking at or speaking to his father.

"Hey," his father said nervously.

Edward grabbed a Gatorade without responding.

"How're the legs?"

Edward shrugged. "Not bad." He took a long drink out of the bottle and ran the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Take it easy with the weights?"

"Yeah."

From the corner of his eye, Edward saw his father, pale and noticeably shaken, run a hand through his hair. The sleeve of his shirt was torn and stained with blood. His irritation forgotten, Edward gasped. "Jesus, wha'd you do?"

His father looked at his torn sleeve as if he hadn't noticed it before. "Tripped and caught the edge of the wheelbarrow when I went down."

Edward grabbed a clean dish towel from the drawer and held it under running water.

"Take your shirt off."

His father tried to insist it was nothing, but he complied. The gash on his arm wasn't bad, but it started to bleed anew when the fabric that had begun to stick to it was pulled off. Edward dabbed the towel against the cut to clean it and applied pressure to stop the bleeding as the familiar sent of salt and copper filled his nostrils and he felt his stomach begin to roll. He turned his head away. He could feel his gag reflex at the back of his throat, and he swallowed against it.

"I got it," his father said, taking the towel and pressing it against his arm.

"So stupid," Edward grumbled under his breath, berating himself for his overreaction to a little blood. He averted his eyes and tried to focus on not puking.

"Go, grab the first aid kit," his father said. "I'll put some antibiotic cream on it."

Edward retrieved the kit from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, but his steps faltered as he returned to the kitchen. He opened the tube of Neosporin and handed it to his father.

One hand in the other, Edward ran his thumb over his palm.

"What?" his father asked.

"Did you notice if Jake had anything on his hand last night?"

"No. Why?"

Edward remembered the cut Jake got on his hand the other night. _Maybe he had those butterfly stitches things, or a liquid Band-Aid?_ _Not like a regular Band-Aid would work great on your palm._

"No reason."

His father tore open a large, square Band-Aid.

"I want to ask Grace to come over this afternoon," Edward said bluntly. He waited for his father's reaction, expecting a repeat of last night, but the only immediate indication he had that his father had heard him was the way his breath hitched and his movements slowed, as if he were drawing out throwing away a couple of Band-Aid wrappers to avoid having to respond for as long as possible. Edward's knuckles rapped against the countertop in agitation.

"I don't think that's a good idea," his father said apologetically and without looking at him.

"Because Billy said so," Edward accused. He was glad to see that his father looked abashed. Last night, Edward had thought his father'd learned something about Grace or her family and had told Billy and Jake, but it had been the other way around. The Quileute didn't like the Cullens, simple as that. Edward had been imagining the worst—that Grace had gotten mixed up in drugs, maybe even gotten caught dealing—because he couldn't imagine anything else that would set his father so adamantly against her. But, no. "Because they have some stupid grudge against her family, not that they've ever even met them."

His father sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We talked about this. They have their reasons."

 _Fuck their reasons,_ Edward thought to himself, almost saying it out loud. "And those reasons are?" he asked. "Oh, right," he continued, "Ancient tribal legend." Edward said the words as if they were an accusation. He folded his arms. This was the man who had taught him his entire life to judge people fairly. "Whatever. So, can I ask her to come over? Or should I go over there?"

* * *

Gray heard Tanya approaching, and she squeezed her eyes shut. A few feet away, the Calawah River flowed. All around her, Edward's scent lingered the air, even a full day after he'd passed through the area on his run. When she'd heard the fragmented thought in his father's mind that Edward had been in the woods yesterday morning, she'd been paralyzed. All of her _What if_ scenarios had been closer to coming true than she'd known. Isolated, and less than eight miles separating them. In physical pain, Gray curled in on herself. What was eight miles? It was nothing— _nothing_! The slightest change in their course, an unlucky gust of wind . . . God forbid, a stumble and a scrape . . . She fell to her knees, her fingers digging deep gouges in the rocky river bank, and gave thanks that none of those things had occurred.

Tanya's thoughts had initially been overjoyed at Gray's having found her mate, but those thoughts cut off abruptly when she caught sight of Gray, and the first time the two had met filled Tanya's mind. Gray's position now was very similar to what it had been then, when Tanya and her sisters had found her, curled up in a ball, half buried in snow, and overlooking a several hundred foot near-vertical drop to the Bering Strait.

Tanya settled beside her and placed her hand on Gray's back. Skipping over any useless platitudes, she touched Gray's chin and lifted her face upward. In response to the unspoken question, Gray opened her eyes, and Tanya breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"Well, it can't be that bad then, now can it?"

The first time the two had met, Gray's eyes had been blood red.

Gray recounted what she'd seen in Edward's father's mind—that her very human mate had been alone and less than eight miles from not just two human-feeding vampires, but two with the sadistic proclivities of James and Victoria.

Tanya did not try to assuage her anxiety by pointing out that while it was true that something could have happened, nothing had, and for that, Gray was grateful.

Resignedly, she rose to her feet. Time was not a luxury she had at her disposal. Two lives—both precious to her, one directly and the other indirectly because of its importance to the former—were dependent on her, and she was not in the least certain she would not let them down.

" _I'd really like to study forestry . . . I always have, since I was little . . . I've always wanted to work outdoors."_

Edward's words haunted her like forbearers to the accusations that would come should she fail him.

" _How could you let this happen? . . . My dad . . . We had lives . . . I trusted you . . . How could you let them do this to us?. . . I will never forgive you."_

Gray winced. "There's something else," she said. "Is everyone at the house?"

Tanya answered with a hesitant nod, her mind a well-practiced blank slate.

Three miles from the house, her family's thoughts became audible to her; they were carefully guarded, one and all. Gray's own thoughts were calculating, constructing the strongest arguments she could offer based on each of her family members' temperaments. Was there anything she could say, any case she could make to persuade them?

Step by step, they drew closer to the house.

Tanya bumped her knuckles against the back of Gray's hand, as if in an offer of support, but she neither said anything nor let her thoughts slip.

Soon, the house became visible through the trees. Apart from Tanya's and her own footsteps and the sounds of the forest around them, there was nothing to be heard. She should be able to hear her family going about their day, but all was quiet. In an instant, Gray went on alert, her mind working furiously, trying to both catch a glimpse of the reason for her family's silence and to plan her arguments, which she feared would ultimately come down to one final position.

And whether her family would be willing to match it.

Tanya led the way to the dining room, where all their family had assembled and was waiting for them. Gray looked at Tanya, who gave her hand a squeeze and offered her a small nod before joining the rest of their family. Just inside the room, Gray stood alone. She felt like a prisoner at the bar accused of high treason, and just like those of a prisoner led into Court might when facing the judge and jury, her eyes drifted from one face to the next.

"Carlisle?"

Rather than her father, it was Laurent who answered the unasked question of what was going on when his thoughts slipped, and she saw that her family were already aware of what she'd learned. Mentally, Gray berated herself—that was a possibility she should have foreseen.

Her head had immediately snapped toward Laurent and now turned back to her father. Slowly, she nodded.

"You already know."

"Jasper and Alice learned of the breach a few hours ago," Carlisle answered. "We expected you must have as well."

In his mind, Gray saw that, not having yet joined the family when the others and she had first encountered the pack, her brother and sister had wanted to see what they could for themselves and had circled the reservation. Reconnaissance. Exactly what she should have expected of Jasper, given his military background. She was batting a thousand.

"We don't know why the pack decided to reveal themselves as shapeshifters to a human," Carlisle said. "We hoped, perhaps, you had learned more than Alice and Jasper were able to."

 _Edward. Think of Edward._

"I have. It was not deliberately done." Gray related the memory she'd seen in the mind of Edward's father's friend, striving to emphasize the salient points she hoped would most influence her family. The two had been together on the reservation when the friend was told his grandmother had been mugged while in Port Angeles. The woman had suffered both a broken hip and a broken arm, in addition to a number of scrapes and bruises and emotional trauma. Enraged, the friend had lost control of himself for one single second, but it had been enough. He'd phased, and Edward's father had witnessed it happen. "Better judgment ought to have been used, yes. The possibility of just such a lapse of control ought to have been considered before the young man was given such news when there was an outsider present, but the exposure of their secret was not their intent. Edward's father was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Gray had chosen her words with particular care. More than one member of her family had suffered what they regretfully referred to as lapses of control, and an unfortunate human who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time had paid the ultimate price. Her words had hit their mark, and memories of those times came rushing to her family's minds. Gray hated herself for doing it, but Edward's future, and his father's, hung on what was decided that afternoon, and she would do everything and anything to influence that decision.

She bit the inside of her lip and studied her family's reaction to what she'd told them. Most important of all was Carlisle's. Their secret exposed or not, he would never condone the destruction of a human life. He would be her strongest ally, bar none. Her creator and adoptive father might not believe he had a gift, but Gray disagreed. Carlisle was a born leader. He led by example, and people willingly followed. Whatever he said would hold great sway with the others.

Conversely, her biggest concern was Laurent. He was the least bonded to the family, and therefore, the least likely to be moved by Carlisle. He was also the least committed to their lifestyle. In the few short times she'd been in his company since he'd joined the Denali family, she'd never seen his eyes without at least a trace of red in them or heard a repentant thought in his head for that fact. The destruction of two human lives would be of no consequence to him.

There was also the fact that, although he had parted ways with them over a decade ago, Laurent had been a member of James and Victoria's coven longer than he had been with the Denalis.

To Gray's advantage, however, was the fact that he was also the least practiced at keeping his private thoughts concealed from her. She tested the waters.

"Laurent, I regret if my actions have caused you grief. You were a covenmate of James and Victoria's for some time."

Just as she'd hoped, his thoughts slipped a second time. It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough.

 _Relief. He is relieved—to the point of near delirium._

Mentally, Jasper whistled at the strength of the emotion that accompanied the thought.

"Not at all, I assure you," Laurent responded casually, his thick accent painting the words while letting none of his feelings show. He played with the ends of Irina's hair as he spoke. "I find I quite prefer my present company."

Gray caught Tanya and Kate, and Carmen and Eleazar exchange a glance and heard the turn their thoughts took. They were worried. Irina had come to care for Laurent far more than he did for her. Were he to decide his interest had passed, Irina would be left devastated.

It was Emmett who turned the conversation back to the matter at hand. The easy simplicity of her brother's mind was a rare thing. To Emmett, no matter how unpleasant or distressing a thing might be, it was either avoidable or unavoidable, and if it was unavoidable, there was no sense in tormenting yourself over it. To some, that way of thinking seemed callous, but Gray understood him. At times, she even envied him, her own mind working in the polar opposite fashion.

"Yeah, well, the fact remains—the cat's out of the bag," he said with a shrug.

Rosalie was firmly aligned with Emmett, and she nodded her head in agreement. Protect the family at any and all costs, that was her only concern.

"And how are we going to deal with that fact?" Jasper asked, looking first at Gray, then at Carlisle. That was something Gray was glad to see. She was counting on Jasper's belief in the importance of the chain of command, and Carlisle's position at the head of that chain, because she greatly feared what his own instincts would be.

Alice's mind was focused on trying to glimpse the future, but to her great frustration she couldn't see anything. Gray was still a blind spot to her, and Gray's being a central figure in any potential outcome, Alice's vision was stymied.

Carmen and Eleazar moved closer to each other. Although it weighed on their conscience, they saw only one possible course of action.

At the same moment, Carlisle and Esme reached for each other's hand. Carlisle wore a troubled expression. Esme was worried about him. She already grieved the loss of human life, but like Rosalie, her first priority was the safety of their family.

The sight of all of her family members together, able to offer comfort to and draw comfort from each other, while she stood alone, stabbed at Gray like the proverbial wooden stake.

What was Edward doing at that very moment? She twisted her fingers together.

"We can't take the risk, Carlisle. You must see that," Rosalie said quietly.

Gray caught flashes of the same argument made, in a notably more emphatic manner, just a short while ago in her sister's mind. That explained the utter silence as Tanya and she approached the house. They had tabled the discussion in expectation of her imminent arrival, not wanting her to get wind of it before she arrived. It stung that her family had begun to discuss how to handle the situation without her, before she had returned to the house.

Carlisle patted Esme's hand and released it. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and folded his hands together. Gray had never seen him so deeply troubled, and that terrified her.

Kate spoke for the first time. "Their own secret being divulged may have been unintentional, but what about ours? How did that happen?"

"It happened. What does the 'how' matter?" Rosalie asked.

"The Quileute consider their tribal history to be sacred, and it has always been held strictly within the tribe, but after the incident, the Elders felt an obligation to share their history with him in its entirety. Rightly so, I believe. The existence of vampires is a large part of that history, although they refer to us by other names—the Cold Ones, primarily," Gray said. "The Cold Ones—pale, icy skin, supernatural speed and strength," Gray continued, ignoring her brother. "Slaughtered humans. The pack refer to themselves as werewolves rather than shapeshifters. Can there be any doubt Edward's father identified the Cold Ones as vampires?"

"Once he changed his pants," Emmett chimed in with a laugh.

Esme scolded him.

"Aw, come on!" he protested. "His buddy explodes into a horse-sized dog in front of him?"

"Regardless of how it happened, the fact remains that a human is aware of our existence. He is a threat," Jasper said. His mind was set.

"Edward's father will keep our secret."

"You can't know that," Jasper responded. "Even if you saw it in his mind—"

"Who, exactly, do you believe he is going to tell?" she asked, deliberately tinging her voice with incredulity. "The government, or the National Enquirer? Either way, he would be laughed out of the building. The time when humans believed in the existence of vampires has long since passed. He would make himself—and, by association, his son—the subjects of public ridicule, laughing stocks. Local police chief cracks up, story at eleven.

"And even if there were a modicum of a chance he might be believed," Gray continued, "he is not a stupid man. He must know he could not hope to expose us without also exposing his life-long friends and sentencing them to a lifetime spent as government lab rats at some Area 51 type place."

"Even if you are right," Eleazar said, "and we can trust him not to expose us, if the Volturi were ever to find out we allowed a human to know of our existence and did nothing. . . ."

"Why should the Volturi ever know? Not even Aro is all-knowing. Or do you believe someone here is going to tell them?"

Laurent's face passed through the minds of more than one person.

As for Laurent himself, he was reflecting on not only the myriad bite scars covering Jasper's neck, jaw, and forearms, but also the two new scars Gray herself bore on her neck. Then there were the gifts various family member possessed . . . No. Gray did not believe Laurent would go running to the Volturi. He wouldn't dare.

"Gray, have you considered the possibility he might tell his son?" Esme asked. Her voice and mind were filled with sympathy. To have so many obstacles thrown between Gray and her mate broke Esme's heart.

"I am more than certain he won't. I did worry about that possibility myself, but the poor man is utterly terrified of what he expects us to do to _him_ —the Elders seem to have stressed to him the danger knowing of our existence put him in should any of our kind ever learn of it. The idea that he would condemn his son to the fate he expects for himself . . . He would no more do that than you would. In fact, he made a point of telling me Edward knew nothing."

"I'm still afraid the risk is simply too great," Eleazar said.

Rosalie agreed. "There are too many who disagree with the way we live and who would love nothing more than a reason to run to Italy."

"To say the risk is even minimal is an exaggeration. Again, who is to ever know?"

"If a nomad passerby encountered the pack—"

"He or she would not live to tell any tales," Gray insisted.

"You cannot know that for certain. Had you not intervened yesterday, James and Victoria would most certainly have destroyed the pack's Alpha with barely a scratch to themselves."

"And the rest of the pack would have hunted them down."

"Maybe. Or maybe they would have gotten away." Eleazar tipped his head at Laurent. "We know what a gift Victoria had for escape."

"Why should what you're suggesting happen now when it hasn't happened in the hundreds of years of the pack's existence? Furthermore, while it was never directly stated, the risk that a passing nomad might learn first of the pack's existence and second of our knowledge of them—and survive to run to Italy—is one that each one of us has already tacitly agreed to take. For our part, when we allowed the wolves we encountered decades ago to live, and for all of your parts, when you learned what we had done, and did not go to Aro yourselves. I do not see how the addition of Edward's father elevates the risk that already existed."

" _Any_ risk is too great!" Jasper responded heatedly. "I won't allow Alice's safety to be jeopardized, no matter how minimally."

Gray squared her shoulders and met the protective gleam in her brother's eyes. Low and slow, she said, "Nor will I allow Edward's father to be harmed."

"What are you saying?" Carlisle asked.

Gray inhaled deeply. It had come to her final stand. "If you want to get to Edward's father, you will have to go through me to do it."

"Gray! You don't mean that!" Esme cried.

"I do."

"Be reasonable," Jasper pled.

"I am being perfectly reasonable. I will not allow Edward's father to be sacrificed."

"Changed!" Carmen cried. "¡ _Dios mio_! _No te lo puedes creer que_ —You can't think we were intending to—"

"What were you intending? Make a sham report to the police station to which Edward's father would respond and simply never return? Edward not only loses his father, but he is not even to be allowed the closure of a body to bury? You all think I would stand back and allow him to suffer that?"

No longer screening their thoughts from her, the course of action that had been discussed before Gray returned filled her family's minds, and slowly, she nodded her head.

"Now, you see," Jasper said. "It works out perfectly."

"You misunderstand me," Gray responded. "I understand the plan you all had been concocting—that much, yes. However, I refuse to agree to it."

Rather than Edward's father never returning from responding to a sham police report, neither the father nor the son would ever return from their next hunting or camping trip or anything that took them both into the woods.

"It gives you what you want, protects the family, and keeps a father and son together," Jasper reasoned. "Where is the fault?" The gain of not just one but two new additions to the family, who would very likely both be gifted shields, was also a strong advantage in Jasper's mind.

"We could take them to Alaska, and they could pass their newborn time there, far from any humans," Kate added. "Two newborns will be a handful, but there are more than enough of us to handle them both."

"You don't consider the destruction of two innocent lives as a fault? None of you do?" Gray turned to Carlisle, who she'd been counting on. "Carlisle? You haven't said anything. Do you see no fault in the ending of two innocent human lives?"

Carlisle did not answer out loud, but Gray heard his anguish clearly enough in his mind. His head was lowered, and Esme leaned forward and laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Esme? You know his scruples. You know what ending two lives would do to him, the guilt he would carry with him. You would ask him to betray every moral and ethical belief he holds, and has held for hundreds of years?" She turned her eyes from one family member to the next. "You all would? Or did you nominate someone else, and we'll all just hope Edward and his father aren't killed in the process?"

"This gives you what you said you wanted just yesterday," Rosalie said, reiterating Jasper's previous point. Folding her arms in front of her, she asked, "Where was your own concern for the destruction of innocent human life then?"

Gray's eyes fell shut, and she twisted her hands together. "I was wrong then," she admitted. "You were right, Rosalie. Your warning to me yesterday to not make any rash decisions I couldn't take back, you were right. Edward has plans for what he wants to do with his life." She shook her head resolutely. "I won't have him robbed of his chance."

"You have to have given the matter thought, Gray. What do you believe should be done?" Tanya asked, contributing for the first time.

"Nothing need be done."

Arguments erupted, people speaking over others.

"Alice," Carlisle said, effectively silencing the commotion with the one calmly spoken word. After a moment's pause, he asked, "Can you see anything? If we act? If we do nothing?"

All eyes were on Alice, but Alice's eyes were on Gray alone, and the two sisters held each other's gaze. Alice's mind was distraught. As to Carlisle's question, it was a blank, but otherwise it was overflowing with self-blame. She believed she was failing everyone, endangering them by not being able to give them any guidance.

Alice broke eye contact. She looked at her lap and shook her head. "I can't see anything one way or the other. It's all just . . . blank."

Esme and Tanya considered Gray's proposal—that they do nothing.

As she suddenly straightened in her seat, Alice's head cocked to the one side, as if she were straining to hear a whisper from that direction. Her eyes clouded over. Everyone's posture shifted as they oriented themselves toward her.

"Alice? Do you see something?" Jasper asked in a soft, loving voice.

Focused on trying to decipher the too-vague shadows in her mind, Alice didn't respond. The vision ended, and her shoulders fell. She shook her head.

Emboldened by Esme's and Tanya's willingness to at least give a moment's consideration to leaving Edward and his father be, Gray asked, "Do our words mean anything? It's easy enough to say we value human life when the only sacrifice it costs us is a diet of animal blood. Will we abandon everything we've striven to be so easily? If we make exceptions to protect ourselves from a virtually non-existent threat, we are not what we claim to be."

Carlisle looked at her, filled with pride. _Now, there is the girl I remember_ , he told her.

Esme looked between them with uncertainty. She wanted to believe everything would be fine were they to do nothing, but she was not convinced.

"You really believe he will say nothing?" Tanya asked.

"I have no doubt whatsoever."

The Denalis looked at each other. They did not share Gray's certainty, but they were not as resolved to act as they had been. Eleazar in particular was deeply conflicted. While he held a strong belief in the need for the rule of law to protect the safety of their kind, he was as compassionate a soul as Carlisle, and those two facets of his character were at odds with each other.

"What about the pack?" Gray asked. "Had you considered them? Do you think they'll let such a thing go unanswered, or that we could somehow hope to get it by them? We would all need to leave immediately. And had you given any thought to what the repercussions of the sudden disappearance of a Chief of Police and his son would be among the humans? You don't think our abrupt departure would be remarked upon, that it wouldn't attract attention? We risk putting ourselves at the very center of a law enforcement investigation, and that would attract the notice of the Volturi far more certainly than anything else ever could."

With that, Eleazar agreed.

The plan her family had presented to her had only been in the early stages of discussion. They'd believed there was no other way, but they had not yet advanced to the stage of countering the problems she'd brought up. As they considered them now, the hazy, indecipherable vision Alice had glimpsed moments ago began to take more solid shape in her mind, but it was vague, little more than hazy shadows. There was too much uncertainty for her to see anything reliable. Of everyone, it was Jasper who remained most firmly in the belief that they needed to take action, and he was focused on working out ways around the problems she'd pointed out.

"I did mean what I said, Jasper. You will have to go through me," Gray said quietly. It was especially difficult for her to stand against Jasper. Only Carlisle, Esme, and Tanya would be harder. The burden of the invasive nature of their gifts had forged an early bond between Jasper and Gray, which had grown into genuine, mutual love and respect for the other.

He turned to her, and the siblings stared hard at each other.

"Stop it! Both of you!" Esme cried.

Both Jasper and she looked away, but he was still considering ways to get around her, and she was still memorizing them. Of course, nothing that passed through his mind then mattered a hill of moldy beans, as Jasper himself would say, given that he knew full well she was hearing all of it. Of course, it had also been Jasper who'd taught her to never take anything for granted in a fight.

"Talk to him yourself, Carlisle. One father to another," Gray suggested. She could hear him contemplate the idea, turning it over in his mind, considering how a seemingly casual meeting might be engineered, thinking of what he might say. "See for yourself," she said. "He is of no threat to us whatsoever."

"You've spoken with him?" Esme asked.

Gray winced at the memory of just how badly her own poorly thought out plan had gone. She looked off through the archway connecting the dining room to the adjoining room and gave one stiff nod.

"And?" Carlisle asked, leaning forward. "What did he say?"

Gray dropped her head. She began to twist her fingers together but stopped when she heard Carlisle take mental note of how many times she'd fallen back to her old nervous habit.

"He fully expected me to kill him right then and there without a moment's hesitation— and he was relieved that at least I had waited to do it until he was alone rather than . . ." Gray's voice broke. She breathed in and out and gathered herself together. "He believes we're nothing short of pure evil. He didn't say it out loud, but he hardly needed to." She paused and twisted her fingers together. When she caught herself doing it, she scowled and put her hands in her pockets to keep them apart. "I expected nothing less, of course." She tucked her hair behind her ears and admitted her mistaken assumption as to the reason why Edward's father had not been told the true cause of the Alpha's mate's injuries. She berated herself. How could she have been so stupid, so patently and unforgivably thoughtless as to think the Quileute's decision not to tell Edward's father the truth of what had happened yesterday had anything to do with her? They'd tried to spare him the knowledge that two human feeding vampires had been only a few miles from his son. "I'm lucky I didn't kill the poor man myself. I really thought he might have a heart attack right there in front of me."

Gray twisted her fingers together so forcefully, were she still human, the bones would have broken. She knew she was doing it, but she no longer cared. Somewhere in a cemetery in Chicago, all of her old governesses were rolling over in their graves and wishing they had their ruler, no doubt.

"That was also why I asked you for a sketch book, Esme. It was a stupid idea," Gray scoffed at herself, "but I thought that if I gave him a book of drawings of his parents and grandparents as they were when we lived in Forks before, it might improve his impression of me."

"I think it was a lovely idea," Esme responded.

Gray doubted he'd ever even open it. It was probably still lying on the ground next to that old stump where she'd set it when she'd helped him to sit down.

"Given how he feels about us, how do you think he would react upon awakening?" she reasoned. "Do you believe he will suddenly forget that he hates us? That he will forgive us for all we took from him and from his son? He will hate us all the more, and when he left us—which he would most certainly do—Edward would undoubtedly go with him. I don't fool myself into thinking any feelings he may be beginning to develop for me could even hold a candle to those his had for his father, and none of you should either. Why would either of them stay with us when we would be the ones who had robbed them of everything?"

Slowly, one by one, her family were beginning to waver in their resolve in the face of the arguments she'd put forward—if nothing else, they'd accepted that taking action carried its own potential risks, and they were debating which risk was worse.

"If someone wanting to harm us were to make an accusation against us in Italy, our guilt or innocence would be of no consequence," Eleazar admitted. "Something fabricated would be as damning as something factual if the Volturi wanted to end us. And for their own part, if the Volturi chose to move against us on their own accord, they would do so, with or without cause."

Gray needed every bit of strength she possessed to control her reactions. She wanted to applaud. Hell, she wanted to jump up and down and cheer. As, one by one, her family gave more serious thought to not acting, or at least to not acting immediately, Alice's vision returned, still foggy and indistinct, but strengthening. She still could see nothing of Gray's own future, but for all they knew, she never would again.

"I _think_ it'll be okay," she said. Indistinct and foggy visions were better than no visions at all. At least she saw no plumes of dark purple smoke billowing skyward.

Carlisle had pressed his hands flat against one another, and he now rubbed them slowly together.

"The safety of our family is the top concern for all of us," he agreed. "But for my part, I agree with Gray that there is more at stake than our physical safety. The actions we choose to take in the face of uncertainty define us far more accurately than do those we take when there is no risk."

Arriving at her own decision, Esme agreed. She wrapped her arm around Carlisle's and nodded at Gray, a small Mona Lisa smile gracing her lips.

 _It will be okay,_ Esme told her _. You will see. Your Edward's father will come to love you. How can he not?_

Gray would settle for tolerate _,_ and be happy with that much, but Esme looked at all her children with a mother's prejudiced eyes, and none of them more so than Gray.

The Denalis turned to each other until, finally, a long look passed between Tanya and Eleazar. He nodded once, and Tanya answered with a nod of her own. "We agree," she said, with her own smile and supportive thoughts for Gray.

Emmett was disappointed—he'd been looking forward to wrestling a couple of newborns—but he shrugged it off in typical Emmett fashion. He gave Rosalie a nudge.

"Fine," she said, folding her arms in front of herself.

To say her family was comfortable with the situation would be a gross falsehood, and of everyone, it was not surprising that it was Jasper who found the idea of not taking offensive action the hardest to stomach. He was uneasy, but he gave her a stiff nod. He would not act against Carlisle, but his thoughts made it clear he would not hesitate to push for action to be taken at any time should he sense anything from Edward's father that he might deem dangerous.

If nothing else, she'd won time. Ultimately, Gray did still want to see Edward like her one day, but that day was not then. Someday in the future, after he'd enjoyed a long human life, and only if it was his decision. It had to be his choice.

"If we're done here?" Rosalie asked as she stood up. Without another word or glance at anyone, she left the room and retired to the garage and her latest restoration project.

Emmett grinned widely at Gray, and at the wicked gleam in his eyes, she felt herself grow apprehensive.

"We can't wait to meet him," Tanya said, pulling Gray's attention from wondering what Emmett was up to.

A scene much like the one from the night before passed through her family's minds, this time with the Denalis included.

Gray responded adamantly. "Oh, no. No. We are not doing that again."

"What happened?" Kate asked, grinning eagerly.

Jasper and Emmett looked at each other and mentally chuckled. They gave Edward bonus points for both staying on his feet and not bolting.

"Nothing happened," Carlisle responded. "Gray brought her young man in, and we welcomed him. It went perfectly well."

"Gotta give it to the guy—he don't spook easily," Emmett said with a laugh.

"We weren't ten feet in the door, and they all descended on us," Gray said. Mentally, she cringed at the memory. It had been like Donna Reed meets the _Munsters_. And then there was Alice's little stunt, slipping her hand into Jasper's pocket. . . .

Carlisle and Esme were repentant, but Alice merely shrugged when Gray shot her a glare.

"Too much?" Carlisle asked.

Gray raised her hand and indicated an inch with her fingers. "A little less Ozzie and Harriet."

We could go for more of a _Married with Children_ thing," Emmett suggested, wriggling his eyebrows. "Esme, think you can poof up your hair?"

"Burn the cookies next time, and drop some cigarette ash on them," Jasper added with a laugh.

Emmett continued with the theme. He slipped his fingertips under the waistband of his jeans and leaned back in his chair, his legs apart, and sighed. "Ah, yeah."

The laughter started small—a cough, a cleared throat, a little shaking of the shoulders—but it was soon uncontrollable, and when it finally died away, Gray felt as light as a feather. It was Jasper who had the gift of influencing people's emotions, but in his own way, Gray thought Emmett did, too. He just did it differently.

"When do you plan to see him again?" Tanya asked. She and the other Denalis were thinking they'd sneak a peek.

"He asked her last night if he could see her again today," Emmett said in a teasing, sing-song voice that would seem totally incongruous to his enormous bulk to anyone who didn't know him. "They're going to study math," he said with a wink and a grin.

"Is that what the kids are calling it today?" Kate asked. The three Denali sisters looked at each other, smirking. The best way to characterize what passed through their minds would be the mental equivalent to cracking one's knuckles.

 _Sex With a Human, One-oh-One. School is now in session_ , Kate teased.

Gray swallowed. The words "sex" and "Edward" revolved inside her head in a dizzying circle. Perhaps her never-before-used bed might be put to use. . . .

Mentally making a loud sound like someone clearing their throat, Jasper pulled her focus back to the discussion at hand. He rolled his eyes at her, but his thoughts were amused.

"We need to meet with the wolves as soon as possible," he said. "I think we have to assume the tribe has been informed by now that we are aware the treaty has been violated, and we don't want to give them time to decide how to proceed from there. But we must know exactly what we will be facing first."

"That will be easy enough," Gray said, glad to be on the same side as her family again. A circuit or two around the reservation would tell her everything they needed to know.

"We have an advantage. We need to maximize it," Jasper said, addressing Carlisle. "I recommend beginning with an inquiry as to the recovery of the two from the incident yesterday—a subtle reminder that they are in our debt." He inclined his head towards Gray. "From there, move on to the issue of the treaty."

The conversation having centralized around Carlisle and Jasper, discussing and planning the meeting Carlisle would arrange, the rest of the family drifted off to their own pursuits.

Gray slipped away upstairs and closed her bedroom door behind her. Emmett's scent hung in the air, and on her bed lay a plastic shopping bag bearing the name Forks Outfitters above the image of snowcapped mountains between bright green evergreens.

 _Bought you a present_ , his thoughts sang to her.

Knowing Emmett as well as she did, Gray eyed the bag warily. A gift from Emmett could be anything from an exploding can of snakes, to—

 _You can wear them next time you see you boyfriend._ Emmett's laughter roared inside her head.

Yeah, to _that_ sort of gift. Gray cringed. She was going to have decades of sex jokes from Emmett to look forward to, she just knew it. Resigned, she inhaled deeply. The only things out of place for the room that she could smell were plastic, paper, and cotton. That was a good sign—nothing leather then, anyway. Or studded. Or flavored. She opened the bag gingerly, still half expecting the exploding snakes—it wouldn't have been the first time—and stood in stunned silence for ten full seconds. Genuinely surprised, she held up the two items contained in the bag and looked at them.

 _The purple will really bring out the shadows under your eyes._

 _Oh, wait . . . Forget that._

Gray's shoulders shook with amusement. So utterly Emmett. . . .

 _Well?_ _Are you going to put them on or what?_

Gray looked once again at the items Emmett had given her. Well, she told herself as she tried them on, she'd never worn anything quite like them before.

 _Alice'll have a conniption!_

Gray laughed as she looked at herself in the mirror. Yes, that Alice would.

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Chapter 11 will post in two weeks and teasers will post a day or two before that on Facebook groups Twilight FanFiction Pays it Forward, The Twilight Fan Fiction Finders, Twilight FanFiction Recommendations II, Tufano79 Twilight Fanfiction Appreciation, & The No Rules Twilight fan fic Recs Club.

Author's notes -

She was batting a thousand. - Baseball analogy meaning a perfect score or a perfect record. It's used sarcastically when a person is getting everything wrong. A player's batting average shows the percentage of times he gets a hit per times at bat. Batting a thousand would mean every time a player batted he got a hit. Batting .500 would mean every other time, batting .250 one out of every four, and so on.

¡ _Dios mio_! _No te lo puedes creer que_ — My God! You can't believe that—

Carmen slipped back into Spanish for a few seconds in her surprise.

Sex With a Human, is now in session. I don't know if other countries have similar systems, but in the American college/university system, 100 level classes are your entry level classes, very beginner for someone with no or very little prior background in a subject other than high school. Something 101 (always said as one-oh-one in this case, not one hundred and one, etc.), is slang for a very introductory lesson on the subject.


	11. Chapter 11

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

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Nominations are open for the twific fandom awards on twificfandomawards blogspot com / Nominate all your favorite fics! You can nominate as many fics/authors/fandom members as you'd like. There's no limit.

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 **SPOILER ALERT** – _**Flowers for Algernon**_ by Daniel Keyes and _**The Great Gatsby**_ by F. Scott Fitzgerald are discussed in this chapter, with the climax of _Flowers for Algernon_ basically being given away. If by any chance you are reading, or plan to read that book, be aware I give away the ending in this chapter. (Read the book anyway. It's fabulous.) If _The Great Gatsby_ is your favorite book ever, you are probably going to be ticked off at me.

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This story is set in 2012.

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A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

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 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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Chapter 11

.~.

Gray skipped down the stairs exuberantly, hoping to hear from Edward before long. She was wearing Emmett's gift, and the moment she entered the dining-turned-meeting room, where Jasper and Carlisle were still in discussion, their conversation stopped.

"That's a new look for you," Carlisle said.

Holding her arms out to her sides, she slowly turned in a circle, the way the models showing off the latest fashions had when her mother and she had gone to New York City shopping nearly a century ago.

Emmett came in, hooting loudly when he saw her. Two fingers between his lips, he whistled.

"Alice seen that?" Jasper asked.

Her attention already having been caught, Alice answered from the second floor, "Has Alice seen what?" Her light-as-a-feather steps could be heard moving through the house. "Has Alice seen what?" she asked again, her steps speeding up. "Gray, what are you wear—" Her words cut off mid-sentence as she entered the room. "Where—did you get— _that_?" she asked, already glaring at Emmett.

Gray wore a purple plaid flannel shirt over a purple no-name t-shirt.

Emmett clapped his hands and laughed raucously. It wasn't often anyone managed to surprise Alice. "Set me back a whole thirty bucks, but it was worth every penny."

"If you wanted flannel shirts," Alice said, struggling on the word _flannel_ , "we could've gone shopping." Her sense of style was appalled, but if Gray wanted flannel shirts, there were sure to be a number of designers . . . Various shops in Seattle passed through her mind.

"I thought I'd run by the reservation, see what I can hear," Gray said, so eager to head out—so she could get back—that she was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"I'll come, too," Jasper said, rising. "Don't call the pack until we're in position," he said to Carlisle. "Give us ten minutes."

Carlisle nodded.

"If your ladyship is ready?" Jasper asked, offering her his arm.

"Thank you, kind sir," she said, wrapping her arm around his. While settled for the moment, Gray knew the matter of Edward's father's knowing her family's secret had not been resolved firmly once and forever, and Jasper's thoughts made it clear he intended to use the chance to talk to her alone to reason with her. Never before had Jasper and she been on opposing sides of an argument, and she did not like it.

"Be nice," Alice said, giving her husband a meaningful look and a kiss on the check. _Both of you_ , she added silently to Gray. She looked at Gray's shirt and grimaced.

"It's purple," Gray said in her shirt's defense. "Purple makes everything better."

.~.

Jasper and Gray started towards La Push in silence, and Jasper's thoughts were trained on the upcoming meeting with the pack. The tenor of those thoughts, however, gave away what they hid.

"It's like _déjà vu_ all over again," Gray commented, remembering the trip the two had taken only the other night to Forks. "I won't be swayed, Jasper."

"You would place Alice at risk? Esme?"

"You know I wouldn't. Would you, by acting rashly?"

"Not acting rashly is not the same as not acting at all."

"The resulting risk—between the pack's desire for vengeance and the human's inevitable search for Edward and his father—would be exponentially greater than the risk you believe exists now. You lay down very good false paper trails for us, Jasper, but are you sure they would stand up to an FBI investigation? What risk would Alice—and all of us—be placed in should they not?"

Jasper scoffed. _FBI?_

Five miles from the house, they climbed to the tree tops for the rest of the way.

Jasper looked at her from the corner of his eye. "You only thought of that argument the second before you made it."

"That doesn't make it any the less true."

"Would you have told us the pack had broken the treaty had we not already known?"

Mentally, Gray flinched. That was the question she had feared being asked, and now she had been. She hesitated before answering, and that alone was answer enough. Had it been in her power to conceal the truth from her family, she would have.

 _Overmastered, indeed._

"I thought not," Jasper said. His thoughts were not accusatory, as Gray would have suspected. He understood.

"It would have been impossible to keep the secret in any case," Gray said, going on to explain how terrified the man was.

Jasper didn't respond. His thoughts passed to Gray's fears for how Edward and his father would react upon awaking. _They might not mind as much as you think, you know_ , he told her kindly. _I didn't. By all accounts, Esme didn't. Emmett didn't. For that matter, you yourself don't seem to have minded._

"Rosalie," Gray responded, the single word not needing any explanation.

Jasper sighed. _Rosalie_. "Rosalie's was an extreme case."

"The ultimate betrayal, committed by the one person in whom she ought to have been able to have absolute trust? You see no parallel? For Esme, Emmett, and for me, our human lives were over. Edward's is not, and I won't see him robbed of it."

Jasper let the matter drop. The wind blew from the south, and they stuck to a northerly route to direct their scents away from the reservation. Roughly two miles to the northeast of La Push, they settled into the topmost branches of a Western White Pine that reached almost one hundred and fifty feet tall. Even there, a trace of the wolves' odor wafted up to them. Could Edward really not smell that stench, Gray wondered? The limitations of the human olfactory system were astonishing.

.~.

With an expression of disappointment, Edward hung the landline phone in the kitchen back up and cleared the missed call from his cell phone. He'd texted Grace over half an hour ago but hadn't gotten a response back from her yet. He'd known he was being stupid even when he'd done it, but he'd called his cell from the house phone, just to make sure it was working. He looked back at his phone's screen—four bars. He pulled up Grace in his contacts, just so he could see the picture of her he'd taken at the Hoh yesterday. It was all so unbelievable, he needed to see her face to keep himself from beginning to doubt she was real, to begin to question whether yesterday had been nothing but a dream. But there she was, smiling up at him from the screen with her perfect face and her perfect hair. . . .

Maybe she was still asleep? They never actually said a time. Maybe she liked to sleep late? Maybe she was out of cell range and hadn't gotten his message? Cell service outside the city could be iffy. Of course, he'd gotten service from her house last night . . . Maybe she was in the yard or something? Maybe her phone was dead? Maybe she'd decided he was a total nerd and never wanted to see him again?

With nothing to do but wait, Edward returned to his room and picked up his copy of _The Great Gatsby_. He looked at it dispassionately. The book was the assigned reading over Easter break for his honors English class, and so far, he was about forty pages in. Unable to concentrate, he read the same sentence three times. Giving up, he tossed the book aside in frustration and flopped down on his bed. Maybe it was his mood—he felt jittery from head to foot—but he just couldn't concentrate on anything not named Grace. It didn't help that the damn book was boring as fuck. Whatever it was about the story that made it one of the greatest American novels, he just didn't see it.

When his phone suddenly vibrated, Edward grabbed for it, nearly knocking it onto the floor, and fumbling with it so badly, he nearly ignored Grace's call.

Charlie had ESPN on, but he wasn't watching it. Edward had invited that girl to the house. She'd been _invited_. Charlie knew damned well the idea that creatures like her had to be invited into a person's home before they could step over the threshold was a bunch of bullshit dreamed up by some lucky S.O.B. who didn't have the vaguest notion that creatures like her actually existed, but the idea that his son had invited that creature into their home, and that there was fuck all he could do about it, burned in his gut. But what else could he have done? Told Edward to go there? Jacob and another one of the pack boys were in the woods behind the house, near enough for that girl to able to hear them, Charlie knew, but it didn't make him feel any better.

Edward looked at himself in the mirror. Grace had said she'd be over in about twenty minutes—he checked his watch—twelve minutes ago. _Okay. Relax_ , he told himself. _Take a deep breath._ Which he did. _If she'd decided you were a total loser, she'd have come up with some excuse to not hang out_.

She'd asked him to call her Grace, rather than Gray like everyone else. That had to mean something, didn't it? And the way she'd talked when they'd said good-bye last night—so seriously and even a little frightened. It had been as if she'd been afraid he would decide he didn't want to see her again. But that made no sense. She was amazing.

He looked at his watch again. Seven minutes.

Edward left his room and went into the living room. His father was watching TV, and Edward went straight to the front window to look out.

"Easter is next Sunday," his father said with a mild emphasis on the word _next_.

Letting the blinds fall back, Edward looked down at the dark red button down shirt and black jeans he'd put on. "I wanted to look nice," he said.

His father made a _hmph_ sound, and Edward turned back to the window. He was so anxious, his fingers were tapping randomly on the window sill. When he caught himself doing it, he laughed as he pretended to play _A, A . . .C, C . . .G, G._

"Something funny?" his father asked.

Edward answered without looking at him. "No." Fed up with his father's attitude, he said, "Please, be nice to her when she gets here. She's special."

His father sighed but drew a circle in the air over his head with his finger, as if he were drawing a halo.

Edward turned back to the window just in time to see a silver car with a bright yellow license plate pull up in front of the house. With a rush of excitement, he hurried out the door and down the front steps, jumping over the last three. Grace was just opening the car door.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi." He took her hand, their fingers lacing together. It shouldn't be possible, but she was even more beautiful than he remembered. He touched her face and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she gravitated to his touch, just as she had last night. His attack of nerves was forgotten. Moving like one, he leaned down toward her as she stretched up to him, and they kissed. It was the most natural thing in the world. It was like breathing. Like putting one foot in front of the other.

"Hi," he said.

She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling in exactly the right way. "Hi."

"C'mon inside."

"Let me just get. . . ."

Grace opened the back door and retrieved a stack of papers. Print outs—worksheets, it looked like—and across the top was printed: MATHEMATICS IN FORESTRY.

Edward groaned.

Her eyebrow arched, Grace asked, "I'm sorry, did you not want to pass trigonometry and get into your college of choice?"

"No. I do.

She handed him the papers as she took two steps toward the house. "Then let's get started." She turned and faced him, continuing to walk backwards, just as she'd done at the Hoh the day before, and touched his stomach. "So we can finish."

The muscles in Edward's stomach twitched at her touch.

"You look very nice, by the way," she said. "Very handsome."

Edward felt heat spread up his neck, and he was sure he was turning pink.

"You—you look nice, too," he stammered. "Beautiful."

He opened the door for her, and they entered the house.

"You have a pool table?" she asked, catching a glimpse of it on the lower level.

"Do you play?"

Grace smiled and shrugged. "After a fashion."

"Dad," Edward said, all the nervousness he felt earlier returning with a vengeance, "you remember Grace." He held his breath, silently pleading with his father to be nice.

After a pause that was too long for comfort, his father said, "How could I forget?"

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Chief Swan," Grace said.

His father didn't respond, and Edward saw a vein on his forehead begin to bulge.

Grace laid her hand on his arm. "I thought we could go outside. I found some examples of using trigonometry in forestry. Why don't you get a pen and some paper?"

Edward looked between his father and Grace. He was uncomfortable leaving her alone with him, and the fact twisted his stomach.

She smiled reassuringly. "Go."

They held each other's gaze, and their hands lingered on each other's arms.

"I'll be right back," he said.

.~.

Edward turned down the hall, and Charlie watched as that girl's eyes followed him. He'd seen them outside—fuck, he'd nearly jumped through the window when Edward actually kissed that creature. And just now, all the light touches. It came as no surprise, not with the way his son had been acting since he'd laid eyes on her, but that it was no surprise made it no easier to see. What kind of sick game was that creature playing? Did she enjoy toying with boys' feelings? He'd checked up on what she'd said to him earlier, about how Emily Young had really been injured. Billy'd admitted it had been others of her kind. He'd also said the girl had taken advantage of the situation to take revenge for something the two had done to her mate. If there was one thing Charlie knew about her kind, it was the lengths they would go to when their mates were harmed. He knew the story of the Third Wife as well as any Quileute. This creature might think dicking his son around was funny, but when her mate showed up, he sure as fuck wouldn't. The danger she was putting his son in for her own entertainment meant nothing to her. Charlie leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "A couple of the boys from the pack are just outside."

"I'm aware," that girl responded, calm as could be, as if the presence of two of the Quileute wolves was nothing to her. "Subtlety is not their strong suit."

"What are you playing at?"

"I'm not playing at anything, sir. I know what you believe of us, but that is not who we are. Edward told me he was having difficulty with trigonometry. I hold a DPhil in Engineering Science from Oxford. Granted, it's out of date by a couple of decades, but I'm sure I can handle high school trigonometry."

Before Charlie could respond, Edward returned. He looked between the two of them uneasily. "Ready?"

"Sure."

Charlie seethed at how helpless he was as he watched his son with that creature. How could he keep Edward away from that girl without telling him what she really was—but how could he tell him what she really was without risking retaliation against all of them?

.~.

Grace and Edward sat together on the patio. Edward looked over the printouts she'd brought for him. Yeah, he was going to fail, and he was going to be working at the True Value for the rest of his life. "I've studied all this before. It just doesn't stick in my head. I don't get it."

"Seeing what you're studying put into use in practical ways in your field of interest might help you understand it better, which will help you remember it. And there are little tips and tricks that can help you." Grace drew a right triangle on a piece of paper. "We'll review the basics first and build from there. Simply put, trigonometry deals with measurements of the angles and sides of triangles."

Edward watched her hands as she labeled the sides of the triangle X, Y, and Z. She had such pretty hands. Long, slim fingers, short nails with no polish, and on the third finger of her right hand she wore a ring with a deep purple stone set in swirls of gold. Edward took her left hand and wove their fingers together. Her hand looked so delicate; his looked so rough in comparison.

"Edward."

"Hm?"

Her jaw curved softly down to her neck, and Edward's eyes followed along the smooth skin to the bottom of her ear where it peeked out through her hair. She wore earrings that matched her ring and had a thin ribbon of gold that wrapped under her earlobe.

"Pay attention."

"I am."

"To what I'm saying."

"The angles and sides of triangles."

He leaned forward and kissed the spot just below her ear.

Grace laughed. "You are incorrigible." She angled her head to give him better access, and she slid her hand from his shoulder up his neck and into his hair. "I do hope it wasn't a similar distraction with your former teacher that led to your difficulty with the subject in the first place."

Edward's entire body stiffened, and he sat back. He groaned. "I think I just threw up a little."

"So, now, as I was saying. Imagine we want to determine the height of a tree." She pointed with her pen towards the trees at the back of the yard. "We'll assume the tree stands at a right angle to the ground, and isn't curved into an arch." She drew a small square in the right angle corner, next to which, she drew a tree.

Edward laughed.

"Trust me. That's our subject tree. Now, in relation to the tree, we are here." She drew two small stick figures beside another corner. "Our position, the base of the tree, and the top of the tree are the corners of the triangle." She pointed to each corner as she spoke. "The hypotenuse, or Z, is the side across from the right angle. Think of the other two sides in relation to our position." She pointed to the stick figures. "The opposite side of the triangle, or Y—which is our tree—is opposite where we sit, and the adjacent side, or X—which is the ground between us and the tree—is adjacent to where we sit. The line between the top of the tree and where we sit is the hypotenuse. The words 'opposite' and 'adjacent' both have eight letters. Hypotenuse has ten. It is the longest of the three words, and the longest of the three sides."

Edward's posture changed as he followed along. He nodded his head. "Okay."

"We want to calculate the height of our tree, or Y. If we knew how far we were from both the base and top of the tree, X and Z, we could calculate the length of Y using the Pythagorean theorem, but we don't. All we can know at this point is how far we are from the tree. To use a round figure, let's say we're one hundred feet from the tree. The adjacent side, X, which is the ground between us and the tree, is one hundred feet. What else can we measure to calculate Y?"

Edward scratched his shoulder. "I know we need an angle, but I get screwed up. I can study functions for an hour and then try to work problems, but I just can't," he held up his hands and laced his fingers together, "take what I just read and use it to figure the problems out. It gets lost between reading it and trying to use it."

"Foresters have equipment they use to determine the degree of the angle where we stand. Knowing that, we can use the tangent function to determine the length of the opposite side—or the height of our tree."

"Tangent equals . . . ," Edward pressed his fingertips against his closed eyes, "adjacent over opposite?"

"That's cotangent. Tangent is opposite over adjacent. Some old hippy caught another hippy tripping on acid."

Questioning whether he'd heard Grace correctly, Edward blinked, then laughed.

"What?"

"You've never heard that before? All saints take cocaine?"

He shook his head.

"Small wonder you're doing poorly. What did that man teach you all year?"

.~.

Grace ducked under a low-hanging branch as she walked a little ways in front of him. After spending over an hour working on trig, they were now slowly picking their way through the woods behind his house, talking about random things and asking each other all sorts of questions. To someone not familiar with them, all woods looked the same, but Edward had spent countless hours exploring these woods growing up, and he knew all the landmarks to keep an eye out for to not get lost. Just in front of them, a recently fallen tree lay in the very early stages of being reclaimed by the forest.

"When did you start running?" she asked, continuing their conversation.

"My dad says about a minute after I took my first step," Edward said with a laugh. "I used to run laps through the house when I was, like, two," he said, drawing a circle in the air with his finger.

When they reached the fallen tree, Grace leapt up onto it as easily as if it was no more than a couple of inches off the ground. He stopped and stared. Laying on its side on the forest floor, the fallen tree came to above his knees. "Um, be careful," Edward said. Worried she would fall, he held his hand out to help her down.

She smiled at him. "I won't fall. I have very good natural balance." Even so, she took his hand and jumped down. "A half-marathon is a tremendous achievement. Thirteen miles is no small matter," she said.

His mind was still half on the ease with which Grace had leapt onto the downed tree—graceful, like a deer—but when she smiled at him, it was hard to think about anything else. "You know how far a half-marathon is?"

"Will you tell me about it?" she asked.

Edward basked in her smiles and her interest in his running. "It was really cool," he said. "They've got live bands playing, like, every mile or so, so it's like you've got this great live soundtrack, and there are all these crowds cheering you on. It's really great. I really underestimated the hills, though. I mean—it's Seattle, so I expected hills, but—man, they were killer! Seriously, an incline on a treadmill just isn't the same. Part of the course was on the freeway, which they closed down. That was cool. And you run by Seward Park and Lake Washington. Then, at the end, was this great view of Safeco and Quest stadiums. And they have this really cool Expo thing at the end where you get your medal, and they have all this food and all these places giving stuff away. Odwalla bars and Lara bars and drinks and stuff. My best friend and his dad went with us, and we stayed in Seattle and went to a Mariners game the next day."

"Are you going to do it again this year?"

"Oh, yeah. It's in June. I'm working on getting back into condition for it. During most of the school year, I ease way up and only do, like, three miles or so. Yesterday morning was my longest run since last year—six miles. I'd really like to run in Boston one day," he said.

"I have no doubt whatsoever that you will."

The way Grace looked at him, like he was telling her his plan to both cure cancer and bring peace to the world singlehandedly, made Edward's insides do backflips.

Changing the subject, she asked, "You're undecided about _Falling Man_. What book is your favorite?"

After a moment's thought, Edward answered, "Maybe _Flowers for Algernon_."

"Not one for light fiction, are you?" she asked. "Towards the end, when Charlie wrote 'Todays Sunday' in his journal, without the apostrophe, that was the most devastating moment to me. He was so excited to learn about punctuation."

"You've read it?" Edward asked. He remembered the moment Grace mentioned. He remembered when Charlie realized it was inevitable that he would regress as Algernon had, then during the regression when he realized he could no longer understand German or remember what a favorite book had been about. _Please, God, don't take it all away_ , he'd prayed."To have had the chance to gain so much, only to discover you're going to lose it, and there is nothing you can do to stop it . . ." He stopped and picked at a bit of bark on a tree. "It would be awful—like knowing you were going to die." He thought it might even be worse than that.

Grace's breath shuddered. She touched his arm, and her fingers slid up to his shoulder. "Something rather worse, I should think," she said in a soft voice, as if she'd read his mind. "'Don't feel sorry for me. I'm glad I had a second chance in life, and I'm grateful I saw it even for a little bit.'" The corners of her mouth twitched as she looked at him, but a real smile never formed.

The breeze blew a strand of hair in Grace's eyes, and Edward tucked it behind her ear. That little bit of hair had a habit of falling into her eyes, he'd noticed. "Okay, least favorite this time," he said. "Least favorite book."

"Oh, easy. Gatsby."

"Really?"

"To call it the _Superficial Gatsby_ would be more accurate. And, lucky me, we came just in time for it to be the assigned reading. Pity it wasn't assigned a month ago. I'd have been spared."

Edward felt a thrill at hearing that—if Grace knew it was the assigned reading, she had to be taking honors English, too, and seeing as there was only one 11th grade honors English class, there'd be at least that class they'd share.

"I just started reading it this morning," he said.

"Perhaps I ought not have said anything. I don't want to influence your opinion."

"I can't say I like it myself so far either. I'm about forty pages in, and we haven't even seen Gatsby yet. And it's not a long book."

"No. That it's mercifully short is the best thing I can say about it, but I will say no more until after you've finished it and formed your own opinion."

"Um," Edward said. He couldn't have asked for a better segue. He rubbed the back of his neck. He was nervous and excited at the same time. "Favorite way to be asked to prom?" he asked, butterflies swarming in his stomach and hoping he hadn't sounded totally lame.

Grace raised her eyebrow. "That's two questions in a row." She clasped her hands behind her back and looked up at him coyly.

Edward laughed nervously.

"I didn't get my turn to ask you a question." She tapped her finger against the corner of her mouth, and Edward squirmed. "Hmm." She tipped her head to the side. "What is the theme for prom this year?"

"Um, Gatsby, actually," Edward said.

"Oh?" Grace's honey-colored eyes sparkled. "As it happens, I happen to have something laying around that I believe can be made to fit the theme. That is, of course, if you're asking me, and I'm not letting wishful thinking carry me away."

Exuberant, Edward wanted to pump his fist in the air. "Um, yeah. If you'd like to go."

"I should be delighted."

She touched his arm near his elbow, and her fingers trailed down to his wrist and the back of his hand. Their hands slipped one into the other, and their fingers twisted together. At the same moment, they both took a step toward the other. He touched her face, and they looked into each other eyes, holding each other's gaze for several long seconds as Edward's pulse speed up and every nerve ending in his body tingled with anticipation. The air itself felt electrically charged around them.

Like one, they moved to close the space between them, and their lips met in a long series of light, teasing kisses. Grace's arms slid around his waist, and her hands ran up his back. Her arms were strong around him, and he held her tightly as both their kiss and their hands grew bolder. Any other kiss he'd ever had, anything he'd ever felt for another girl—fuck, any other fantasy he'd ever had—was eclipsed by the intensity of kissing Grace. With their bodies pressed so firmly together, Edward felt the curve of her chest against his, and he ached with the desire to run his hands up her sides and over her breasts. As deep in the forest as they were, no one could see them. They could do anything they wanted to.

A sudden, strong gust of wind blew through the trees, and rainwater that had collected on thousands of newly emerging leaves showered down on them in a burst of cold droplets. They gasped in surprise and laughed.

Grace's fingers traced patterns on his back. She kissed his chin, then pressed her forehead against his shoulder and whispered something. Edward heard his name, but the rest hadn't even sounded like English.

"Just a line of poetry that passed through my head," she answered with a sigh after he'd asked her what she'd said. "'Kissing Edward, I had my soul upon my lips.'"

Edward felt the breath leave his lungs, and he stood agape. He had no idea what to say. That was just . . . wow.

"I did take liberties with the original," Grace said, her fingers moving up and down his arm. "Plato's inspiration was not named Edward. He will have to forgive me. Kissing you is what kissing a man is supposed to be."

"Plato. Ancient Greece, that Plato. You can quote . . . Plato."

"I'm a treasure chest of useless information, remember?"

"Don't say things like that. You're . . . amazing," Edward said, growing suddenly shy at the last minute. He swallowed and repeated himself more confidently. "I think you're amazing."

"You do?" Grace spoke with an awed voice that both warmed Edward and gave him chills.

"Yeah, I mean, God, Grace, you're . . . I mean you're—you're kind of freakin' mind-blowing." Could she really not know how incredible she was? "You're perfect," he whispered.

Grace dropped her gaze for a moment. "I'm far from perfect." When she looked back up at him, the depth of emotion in her face rocked Edward to his core.

The errant stand of hair blew across her face again, and he tucked it behind her ear.

"I envy girls with short hair," she said in exasperation as she tucked more of her hair behind her ears. "I'd cut it all off, if I could."

"Why don't you?" he asked, even though he hoped she wouldn't. He loved her hair. He twisted a lock it round his finger.

Again, the corners of her lips twitched, as if to smile, but the smile never broke through the haunted look he'd seen on her face so often in the short time he'd known her. She let out a breath and shook her head. She placed her hand over his heart and stared unblinkingly at her hand on his chest. She looked deep in thought, like she was considering something of vital importance, until suddenly, as if she'd come to a decision, she began to speak. "Edward, I'm—"

Whatever she had been about to say was interrupted by the most ferocious sounding growl Edward had ever heard. A growl that was low and deep and menacing and that made his blood freeze in his veins. A growl that was unmistakably canine. He jumped in front of Grace and held one arm behind himself, keeping her behind him as his eyes darted wildly through the woods.

"I'm sure it was nothing," Grace said unreasonably and in tone that conveyed that even she didn't believe was she was saying.

Edward closed his hand around her wrist, holding her tightly, keeping her behind him. He could still feel the vibrations of that growl in his bones. At that moment, aell he could think about was Emily Young. "That wasn't nothing."

"It was probably just a coyote," she offered, her free hand stroking his arm before tugging on it gently. "Come on, let's just go back to the house."

"That wasn't a coyote." Edward shook his head. "A coyote's howl is nothing like that." _Wolves?_ There hadn't been a confirmed sighting of wolves west of the Cascades in a hundred years.

Were they sure it was a bear that had attacked Emily Young? What if it hadn't been? What if it was what had just growled at them? What if the thing was rabid?

"Whatever it was, I'm sure it's gone," Grace said, giving his arm another light tug before squeezing it softly. "Let's just go back to the house. Please, Edward."

Edward squeezed her hand and nodded. He knew fuck all about wolves, but he pushed thoughts of Emily away and concentrated on remembering everything he did know about staying safe when you encountered a wild animal in the woods. Hoping to scare the animal away, he waved his arms to appear as large as possible, and spoke loudly in what he hoped was an imposing tone, "Stay close to me. Walk slowly—don't try to run. Watch your step."

Edward stood motionless for several seconds longer, his eyes searching. There was nothing. Whatever it was doing, he didn't think it was moving in their direction.

"Okay, come on," he said. Turning his back on whatever he'd seen went against everything he knew, but he couldn't keep his eyes in one direction and get them back to the house in the opposite direction. He kept his eyes trained in the direction the growl had come from for three more pounding beats of his heart, then turned away and, standing behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders, began to guide Grace back the way they'd came. He looked over his shoulder, not wanting to see so much as a fern blow in the breeze, and he didn't. The forest was silent and still.

"Truly, Edward, I don't believe there's any cause for alarm. Whatever it was probably ran off, if it even noticed us at all."

One step forward, one glance back. No small animal had made that growl. It had to have been big enough that had it run off, he'd have seen it. And as for not noticing them, that growl hadn't been over a squirrel or a raccoon. Two more steps forward, glance back. Making their way back out of the woods felt like it took impossibly longer than it had making their way in. It wasn't until they reached the fallen tree they'd passed earlier that Edward felt himself begin to breathe easier, and when they were finally close enough to the end of the woods to see his house through the trees, he had to resist the urge to break into a sprint.

Another few yards, and Edward heard a sound that was music to his ears—the familiar sound of wood being chopped. He pulled Grace's arm toward the sound, and called out, "Dad!" He could see his father in the distance through the trees now, standing straight and looking in their general direction, the ax raised and ready to swing. "You won't believe it!" Edward shouted, taking Grace's hand and hurrying towards him. "Wolves! We heard a wolf!"

His father'd had a hard expression on his face, but his entire demeanor changed in an instant. His face went slack, and the arm holding the ax almost like a baseball bat dropped to his side.

"Imagine our surprise," Grace said. "I understood there were no wolves living in this part of the state."

"You probably heard a coyote," he father suggested.

"No way. That thing—Christ you should've heard it!" Edward said. "It growled at us like nothing I've ever heard before. It was, like, seriously ferocious."

"Perhaps the authorities should be alerted," Grace said.

His father looked at her, and his lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Seriously—you gotta call Fish and Wildlife." Edward said. "That thing—I swear, it didn't sound normal. Animals just don't, they just don't sound like that. I don't know, but I mean, what if it's rabid or something?"

His father began to speak but didn't. He grunted and ran his hand over his face.

Now that they were safe, Edward thought about Emily Young again. She was far from being among Edward's favorite people, but that didn't matter. If there was a chance whatever had attacked her had been rabid . . . He asked his father if they were sure it had been a bear.

"They know what attacked her," his father said in a hard tone. "And it was destroyed."

"I'm glad to hear that," Grace said. "After such a traumatic event, I believe the human mind can sometimes remember details inaccurately."

"Come on," Edward said to Grace, feeling uncomfortably jittery. "Let's go inside." He looked all around them at the seemingly endless expanse of forest, and he shivered. He felt claustrophobic. The woods were normally his favorite place to be and he knew them as well as he knew the streets of Forks, but at that moment, he felt like the familiar terrain was an alien landscape, and an unwelcoming one at that. When Grace didn't respond, he looked down at her. She was staring back into the woods in the direction they'd walked, a sneer on her lips and her eyes narrowed.

Gray relaxed her features immediately, but she knew it hadn't been fast enough. Edward had once again seen the monster that shared her mind and body with the humanity she clung to. And again, he hadn't pulled away from her, hadn't even flinched.

"If you wish," she said pleasantly. Though, physically, she turned her back on the vitriolic, violent thoughts being screamed at her from the two Quileute wolves a hundred yards away, coupled with those of their littermates lurking farther in the distance, she was acutely attuned to every last syllable that passed between them. Outwardly, her entire focus was where it belonged—on Edward. She didn't need to read his mind to know how deeply that mangy mutt had frightened him. There was nothing in her body language or demeanor to give away the fact that she was, at that moment, debating just how many pieces she could rip each of them into. "Perhaps we could play a game of pool," she suggested as a means of returning Edward to familiar, comfortable ground and giving his mind something to occupy itself with.

"Yeah," Edward said, already sounding more like himself. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"We can explore the relationship between mathematics and pool. For example, the angle at which the ball banks off the rail. Through the principle of reflection, we know that the angle at which the ball strikes the rail will be exactly equal to the angle at which it ricochets off." Edward groaned, and Gray grinned. She'd have preferred spend their time together in a far different way as well, but she could hardly suggest anything of that sort with Edward's father present. "It's geometry as opposed to trigonometry, of course," she said, "but a better understanding of one will help you with other." She shrugged, then continued, saying as if an afterthought, "Of course, it can also help improve your bank shots, if that interests you."

.~.

Charlie watched his son walk back to the house with that creature, feeling like someone was stabbing a white hot poker in his chest. He was absolutely powerless. He knew it, and he hated it, and the gall of that creature to stand there and say the things she'd said pissed him off even more. He inhaled and took his fears and frustrations out on the piece of wood on the chopping block, grunting as he swung the ax down on it over and over until it was reduced to toothpicks and he was sweating and panting from the exertion. He ran his arm across his forehead before throwing the ax at the ground. He sat down on the old stump and picked up several pieces of chopped wood, hurling them one at a time before dropping his head into his hands.

"Hey."

Looking over his shoulder, Charlie saw Jacob approaching, but he didn't responded to the greeting. He wasn't in the mood for 'Hey's. Just last night, both Billy and Jacob had sworn they'd keep that creature away from Edward, that none of her kind would come anywhere near either of them. So much for that.

"We have a meeting with the leader of their coven in two hours," Jacob said. "I intend to make it perfectly clear they are to steer clear of you both."

Charlie nodded his head and stood up, his eyes narrowed and fixed on the lower level of the house. If that creature had heard the boys in the woods earlier, she'd sure as fuck heard that. Good. He was glad she'd heard it.

"What's this?" Jake asked. "It's got her scent all over it."

Looking, Charlie saw that he'd picked up the book that girl had given him that morning and had held it up to his nose. Charlie waved it aside with a dismissive response. Quite honestly, with as preoccupied as his mind was, he'd forgotten about it, and the dark brown cover had blended in with the ground so well, he hadn't noticed it laying there.

Jake opened the book, and his eyebrows drew together as he flipped through the pages. "Drawings?" He held it out to him questioningly, and although Charlie didn't give a damn what was in the book, he held out his hand for it with an exasperated sigh. "Mean anything to you?" Jacob asked.

The first page of the book was a colored sketch of three little girls, all in matching, old-fashioned looking dresses and with their hair in braids, jumping rope. The second was of a group of young boys playing stickball in an open field. Charlie shook his head. The sketches looked like scenes from a Normal Rockwell calendar, idealized images of the past. They meant nothing to him. He flipped through pages of sketches of children playing or carrying school books, about to shake his head again and say he had no idea what they were of until one sketch made the words die in his throat as the realization of what he was looking at hit him. A man and woman stood side by side behind the counter of an old time, small town general store. The man had dark, slicked-down hair parted not quite down the middle of his head, and he wore round glasses. He wore a white dress shirt with the sleeves pushed half-way up his forearms and a dark tie that hung a bit crookedly, the top hanging a bit to the left while the bottom hung straight down. The woman wore an apron over a colorful, flower pattern dress. Her hair was lighter in color than the man's, and she wore it loosely pinned up. Behind them, boxes, jars, bottles, and cans stood neatly arranged lining shelves across the wall.

"Charlie?"

Charlie exhaled. He studied the woman's face. The resemblance of the mother to the daughter wasn't overwhelming, but it was certainly there.

"Charlie?" Jacob asked again.

"My grandparents," he whispered. He flipped back to the first page, and looked closer at the three little girls. If there was a sketch of his grandparents behind the counter of their store, then the children playing had to be . . . But there were three little girls, which was his mother? The boys playing stickball, one of them was his father. But which one? Charlie looked back up at the house, then back at the book he held. There had to be more than a hundred pages, and there was a sketch on every page. There was one of his father going into the Odd Fellows Hall with his parents and brother. At least there he knew which of the boys was his father. Uncle Charlie had been several years older than his father. Charlie turned back to the picture of the stickball game and studied the faces. His father was the boy at bat. There was a patch on his knee, and his sweater was too big. Hand-me-downs. By comparison, there was a sketch of his mother's family looking like they were dressed in their Sunday best. His grandmother wore a coat with a fur collar and a hat and she carried a small handbag in a white-gloved hand.

That girl had given him a book of pictures she'd drawn of his parents and grandparents, moments of their lives she'd witnessed decades ago. Charlie sniffled and let a breath out slowly. He cleared his throat and looked back toward the house.

What was she up to?

.~.

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Chapter 12 will post in two weeks, and a teaser will be given the Wednesday before it posts on Facebook groups Twilight FanFiction Pays it Forward, The Twilight Fan Fiction Finders, Twilight FanFiction Recommendations II, Tufano79 Twilight Fanfiction Appreciation, & The No Rules Twilight fan fic Recs Club.

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Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, or followed this fic. I respond to all reviews, so please go ahead and tell me what you think so far. Criticism is as welcome as kudos. Reviewers also get a sneak peak at the teaser.

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Nominations are open for the twific fandom awards on twificfandomawards blogspot com / Nominate all your favorite fics! You can nominate as many fics/authors/fandom members as you'd like. There's no limit.

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Author's notes:

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Thank you to Eli M from A Different Forest for finding me the absolutely perfect PDF of Using Mathematics in Forestry.

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ESPN is an all sports channel, and S.O.B. stands for son of a bitch.

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"It's like _déjà vu_ all over again." Is a quote from Yogi Berra, Major League Baseball player, manager, and coach, most well-known with Yankees. (But we won't hold that against him.)

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"After a fashion." A little, but not very well. Very outdated. I think more British English than American English, but I'm not completely sure. In any case, Gray's father was British, so it fits she would use some British English expressions too.

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"Some old hippy caught another hippy tripping on acid." Mnemonic to remember the sin, cos, and tan functions in trigonometry.

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"All saints take cocaine." Mnemonic to remember that all functions are positive in the first quadrant, Sine is positive in the second, Tangent is positive in the third, and Cosine is positive in the fourth.

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Dphil – Doctor of Philosphy from Oxford

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Pierced ears were not the norm during Gray's lifetime. Some considered women who pierced their ears to be _fast_ or _loose_ , so she's wearing clip ons.

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The marathon Edward is talking about is the Rock 'n Roll Marathon. A half marathon is actually 13.1 miles. I based what he has to say about it from runners comments on Travelocity. (That site is my bible. Maybe someday I'll get to use the reviews to actually freaking go somewhere rather than just to get some colorful details.) Some reviews were favorable, some less so. I'm leaning much heavier on the favorable because I think Edward would just be thrilled to be there and very willing to see the favorable over the less so. Consensus on the hills was split from killer steep to rolling hills. Maybe there were two different courses?

 _._

 _Please, God, don't take it all away –_ quote from _Flowers for Algernon._ Charlie is the name of the protagonist.

"Don't feel sorry for me. I'm glad I had a second chance in life, and I'm grateful I saw it even for a little bit." Partial quote from _Flowers for Algernon_ that I think fits Gray's position rather well. She's thinking about how much she stands to lose, not the character in the book. She left a bit out. The full quote is "…Don't feel sorry for me. I'm glad I had a second chance in life like you said to be smart because I learned a lot of things that I never knew were in this world, and I'm grateful I saw it even for a little bit."

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"Kissing Edward, I had my soul upon my lips."

"Kissing Agathon, I had my soul upon my lips; for it rose, poor wretch, as though to cross over." _Lover's Lips_ , largely attributed to Plato but debated. I don't pretend to spend my leisure time studying Plato. I read that line a couple of years ago in a book by Tasha Alexander, the Lady Emily series, but I can't remember which book in particular, and I have had it in my head for this fic ever since. The inclusion of the story of the Judgment of Paris a few chapters ago is also due to the Lady Emily series.

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This story is set in 2012. It's completely true that as of that time, there had been no confirmed sightings of wolves west of the Cascades for nearly 100 years. "The gray wolf ( _Canis lupus_ ), a native species that was nearly extirpated early last century, is returning to Washington on its own, dispersing from populations in other states and provinces. The Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife (WDFW) is working to manage this recovering endangered species, guided by a citizen-developed plan to address conflicts with livestock and impacts to other wildlife species. Citizen reports of wolf activity and problems are encouraged as WDFW staff monitor the growth of Washington's wolves. . . . Citizen reports of wolf activity and problems are encouraged as WDFW (The Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife staff monitor the growth of Washington's wolves." The Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife website identifies 20 wolf packs in the state as of December 2016, primarily all in the Northeast with one center state and two in the Southeast.

wdfw wa gov

Edward making his father call the Department of Fish and Wildlife to investigate the sighting of a wolf, which was really Jacob… HAHAHAHA!

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The girls in the sketch book are all wearing dresses made from the very large cotton bags flour and livestock feed came in, as the woman may've been as well. ""Repair, reuse, make do, and don't throw anything away" was a motto during the Great Depression. Very few farm families had enough money to buy new clothes at a store. Mothers mended socks and sewed patches over holes in clothes. Clothes were "recycled" and reused as younger children "made do" with hand-me-downs. When farmers brought home big sacks of flour or livestock feed, farm women used the sacks as material to sew everything from girls' dresses to boys' shirts and even underpants."

living history farm dot org /farminginthe30s/life_

"…the Flour Mills realized that some women were using sacks to make clothes for their children. In response, the Flour Mills started using flowered fabric…

With the introduction of this new cloth into the home, thrifty women everywhere began to reuse the cloth for a variety of home uses – dish towels, diapers, and more. The bags began to become very popular for clothing items."

kindnessblog dot com 2015/05/06/flower-sack-dresses-from-the-flour-mills-historical-kindness/ (There's a picture of the flour sacks and examples of the patterns on this site.)


	12. Chapter 12

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

This story is set in 2012.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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Chapter 12

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Outside, the rain was coming down so hard, the relentless pounding could be heard inside the building. The first Charlie noticed it was when a couple of tourists passed near him, their grumbling about their hiking being spoiled interrupting his thoughts. Out of pure reflex, he glanced at the two, then up at the ceiling, but both the hikers and the rain were forgotten almost the instant he looked away. He'd been standing in the cereal aisle, staring blindly at a box of Frosted Flakes for he had no idea how long, and his eyes returned to the box in his hand, his mind no more on where he was or what he was doing than it had been before. A different grocery store in a different decade—fuck, a different _century_ —was on his mind at the moment. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that sketches of a different grocery story in a different century were on his mind.

Exhaling loudly, Charlie dropped the cereal in the shopping cart and admitted to himself that it was the girl who'd drawn those sketches that was really what was on his mind. Why had she given them to him? What reason could she possible have had? He couldn't begin to imagine. Why couldn't she just leave them the hell alone? Billy had been beside himself, so livid after the pack's meeting with that girl's family that Charlie'd been worried he'd end up having a heart attack. Sam had demanded they keep the fuck away from Edward and him, but ultimately, there were seven of her side to the pack's five, and then there were the four friends they'd brought with them—one male and three females. Outnumbered more than two to one as they were, the pack was as powerless to keep that girl away from Edward as Charlie was. There was nothing any of them could do.

So, why the hell had she given him that damned book?

Charlie moved down the aisle and dropped a box of Cheerios in the cart. He wanted to get the few things they needed and get home. Would that girl be there, acting like she was hanging on every word Edward said while she was really what? Just plain bored, or laughing at him and how easily she'd wound him around her little finger? Sam had reported back to the Elders which of them was mated to who, and who was unmated. Three of the females were unmated, that girl seemingly among them, although that contradicted what she'd said in the woods after—

At the thought of what had been in the woods, so close to Edward, acid burned in the pit of Charlie's stomach and threatened to rise up to his throat. He felt himself break out in a cold sweat. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands on the shopping cart.

"Chief Swan?"

Charlie turned when he heard his name called, his jaw clenching. The voice that had spoken was just like that girl's, unnaturally smooth and deceptively gentle. He'd heard that voice once before—at the hospital the night Greg Varner had died—and Charlie wondered now how he hadn't heard the unnaturalness in it then that was so apparent now.

There was a hesitancy to the other man as he approached, as if he were nervous, and Charlie was reminded of his impression of that girl when she'd snuck up on him in the woods. For whatever reason, they were uneasy around him, if not outright frightened, and even if he couldn't account for it, the knowledge buoyed his courage. In a surreal moment, the two men—one human, one vampire—stood in the cereal aisle, facing each other, their shopping carts between them. Even though Charlie knew damned well, despite the clear apprehension he so clearly demonstrated, the other man could kill him in a heartbeat should he choose, he stared him down, and the other man soon broke eye contact and looked away.

A woman with a small child sitting in the front of her cart passed them, and Charlie saw how her eyes widened and her steps slowed when she caught sight of the man in front of him. When his attention returned to the other man, a box of cereal was in his hand, and he was looking at the nutrition panel. In spite of himself, Charlie had to admit that this charade they played, they played thoroughly. Maybe two hundred in groceries, all bound for the dumpster. Once the woman was gone, he put the box back on the shelf.

"This is very fortunate. I'd hoped to have the chance to talk to you," the man said in a smooth, comforting voice, a doctor giving bad news kind of voice. "I'm Carlisle Cullen, Gray's father. We met at the hospital."

"I know what you are," Charlie spat.

The man studied him briefly before responding. "So I understand."

Another shopper came down the aisle, her footsteps also slowing as she passed them. Charlie heard her gasp at the sight of the other man, right before she hurried away. He imagined a deer catching sight of a hunter in the woods, one moment of time slowing as prey and hunter looked into each other's faces before the deer sprinted off through the trees and the hunter pulled the trigger.

"Gave us all quite the turn. You've caused a rather great deal of commotion in my family. We find ourselves in a situation we've never experienced before." He paused. "Which in itself is a situation we've never experienced before. We had the most heated debate over how to proceed I can ever remember us having."

Charlie's blood ran cold. His heart raced, and he knew every furious beat betrayed the calm and control he was striving to portray. The other man would hear every one. That girl had vowed . . . And their leader—this very man—had reiterated her promise to Sam. . . .

Another shopper passed them, her steps slowing just has the first two. Charlie heard her release a long, slow breath.

"You should know, my daughter argued vehemently on your behalf. I do admit there were those amongst us who disagreed just as vehemently, but Gray argued her case masterfully. They never stood a chance." The man's eyes drifted, and his expression clouded over. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper that screamed with pride. "She would've made an outstanding attorney." He lowered his eyes. "Grace would've made an outstanding anything."

Returning his attention to Charlie, the man said, "I'd walked this earth for several human lifetimes when I met my daughter, Chief Swan, but I'd never encountered anyone quite like her. A mind like a razor, she had, and a genuine thirst for learning. She was the embodiment of the ideal of learning for learning's sake. And her compassion . . . Gray was one of those rare beings born with both a brain and a heart. But she committed one sin that overrode all else in the eyes of the world at the time—she was born a girl." He smiled, and dropped a box of cereal in his cart just as another passing shopper interrupted them. Once they were alone again, he continued. "Not that she had any intention of allowing societal dictates to stand in her way. Tenacity is another quality Gray was born with. She wanted to study medicine, and nothing and no one was going to keep her from doing so. " His proud smile had spread as he reminisced, but it began to fade. "When America entered the Great War, she declared her intention of volunteering to care for the injured in field hospitals in Europe as soon as she turned eighteen . . . Drove her poor parents to despair for over a year. She studied tirelessly to educate herself, and the hours she put in volunteering at the hospital, caring for the soldiers once they started returning. . . .

"But she never turned eighteen."

The other man lowered his gaze, his eyes on the never-to-be-eaten food in his cart. "Her parents were good people. I admired them greatly. When the influenza struck, her mother was one of the first to die, before we had any idea what we were facing. By contrast, when her father fell ill at the height of the pandemic, we knew exactly what those who contracted the disease faced. Gray was inconsolable. She never left his side. She used every bit of knowledge she'd acquired to devote herself to nursing him. And it likely cost her her life." The other man spoke so softly, the constant drum of the rain on the roof threatened to drown him out. "The hospital was overwhelmed. I don't exaggerate when I say that new patients lay on sheets on the ground, waiting for those in beds to die. Gray cared for her father at home. I looked in on them as often as I could." His eyes closed. "It was raining as heavily as it is right now the day Gray's human life ended. Even as I stood on the porch, I could hear the fluid in her lungs rolling like thunder with every breath she took, and I knew before I'd set foot inside the house that she was now sick with the disease as well.

"She was in her father's bedroom, in an arm chair pulled up beside his bed, sleeping fitfully." He opened his eyes and met Charlie's, who, in spite of himself, found himself rapt by the other man's words. "The virus had trademarks—mahogany-colored spots on the checks, cyanosis: skin turned blue from a lack of oxygen in the blood—that were indicators that death was both inevitable and imminent. Both were prominent on Gray's face. It had ravaged her system in only a matter of hours.

"I was horror struck. I'd seen so much suffering, but Gray's dying so young . . . It was more than I could bear. _Not her_ , I told myself. _Not her_. I lifted her in my arms and cradled her. The heat radiating off her body was extreme. I didn't need a thermometer to know she had a fever of over one hundred and five. She woke and looked at me with delirious, bloodshot eyes—they were brown, then, her eyes, a deep, dark chocolate brown. And then she started to cough." A shudder passed through him from head to foot. "If you can imagine it, the coughing fits the virus' victims suffered could be strong enough to tear their abdominal muscles. Her father woke then. That poor man . . . I ask you, Chief Swan, as a father, to put yourself in his place. So many had died already, thousands in Chicago alone, and his own wife as one of the first. Sick as he himself was, he knew as well as I did that his only child was dying, and he begged me to save her. 'You must do everything in your power,' he said. 'What others cannot do, that is what you must do for my Grace.'

"I don't know how he knew, but he did. At least to some extent, her father knew I could do something to save his daughter that others could not. He died shortly afterward. His last words were his plea for his daughter's life."

The other man paused in his story, and his eyes glanced down the aisle. Seconds later, two of the women who'd passed them earlier, separately, passed them again, together this time. Charlie wanted to rail at them.

"Charlie," one of them said, nodding her head at him even while her eyes were on the other man. They hurried out of the aisle, their heads bent together and soft giggles following their footsteps. One glanced back, then quickly looked away.

"They say, 'The straw that broke the camel's back.' Gray was my straw. She was so vibrant and so passionate about what she wanted out of life. Her life being cut short was an injustice I could not bear . . . and I'd been alone for so long. . . .

"I love my daughter very much, Chief Swan, as I know you do your son, and I do understand that you are worried for him. I can only say that between the two of them, it is he who is in a far greater position to hurt her than she is in to hurt him. She hasn't been . . . For a long time now, Gray has been . . . fading. She's been a shell of her former self. We've all been worried about her. She doesn't know just how worried we've been. Everyone has their own private cross to bear, but Gray's is heavier than most. But now, she's herself again. She's interested in the world around her again. She's come back to life, and it's thanks to your son."

Uncomfortable, Charlie licked his lips and looked around the familiar space of the grocery store he'd been shopping in all his life. He felt disoriented and lost, and subconsciously he sought out the security of the known to ground him. He failed to find it.

"I apologize for keeping you," the other man said. "I'm sure you'll be wanting to get done with your shopping." He picked up a box of cereal and shook his head. "Almost four dollars. Your grandparents used to sell two boxes of cereal for thirty cents."

The sudden and unexpected reference to his grandparents' store snapped Charlie's attention back to the other man, the picture of his grandparents standing behind the counter at the front of his mind.

"Four dollars would've been all some families had to spend on groceries for a whole week."

"The book," Charlie blurted out without thinking. "Why . . . ?"

The other man looked surprised, then disappointed. "Is it so hard to believe she simply thought you might like it?"

As the other man walked off, Charlie watched him go with the uncomfortable feeling of falling backwards, like he'd stepped in mud and his foot had gone out from under him or he'd missed a stair.

By the time Charlie had gone through the check out and was pushing his cart towards his cruiser, not only had the rain stopped, but the sun had found a small break in the clouds and was shining brightly, creating a blinding glare on all the wet surfaces. He squinted and raised his hand to shield his eyes as he looked up at the sky. It was a weird looking sky—mostly thick, dark clouds but one spot of brightness fighting its way through. Briefly, he wondered about the man he'd just met. Was he hiding in a shadow somewhere, waiting for the sun to dip back behind the clouds again?

Charlie scoffed mentally. _Probably safely behind the tinted windows of his $70,000 car, or busy tossing a couple of hundred dollars' worth of food in the garbage._ Under his breath, he said to himself, "And I'm supposed to buy that load of bull about that book—just thought I'd like it. My ass. They're up to something. But what?"Charlie slammed the trunk shut and shoved the cart back in the rack. He was angry with himself for letting the other man get to him with that sob story about that girl's tragic past, playing mind games with him— _Put myself in her real father's place_. _Like fuck any real father would beg to have their child turned into a monster._

It was barely a mile's drive from the Thriftway to the house, but that short of a time was enough for the clouds to swallow the sun again. As Charlie turned onto Klahndike Blvd., he saw a car pulled over with its hazard lights flashing a few blocks ahead. A woman was kneeling next to the car, and as he drew closer, he could see she was struggling with a jack. He exhaled and turned his head away, grumbling under his breath. Flat tire. Resigned, Charlie pulled up behind her and parked. It was the last thing he wanted to do—he didn't have time for this—but the rain could start again any minute, and off-duty or not, the words "To Protect and Serve" were painted on his car door. The woman looked towards him, and at the sight of a police cruiser, she smiled. The one and only time anyone was glad to see a cop pull up behind them was when they were having car trouble.

Washington plates, but it wasn't a local car—the only BMWs like that one you saw in Forks were passing through on the one-oh-one—and Charlie definitely didn't recognize the woman. He'd damned well remember if he had. He'd never seen a more beautiful woman in his life, not even Renee. This was the kind of woman who could make a man forget his own name. She stood and brushed off her knees before taking a step towards the cruiser. Her long, reddish-blonde hair fell over her shoulders in waves like a model in a shampoo commercial, and her skin was like porcelain. She wore dark sunglasses, regardless of the gloomy sky—why did beautiful people do that? he wondered in irritation. Always wear sunglasses, even when it was anything but bright? How could she see? Maybe, had she not been wearing dark glasses, she'd have seen that her tire was getting low before it was so flat she was driving on the rim.

"Afternoon," Charlie said. He could see the sticker from a rental agency in Port Angeles on the car's back bumper now. _Hope she took the insurance_ , he thought to himself. But he doubted it mattered. The way she was dressed, money was no object. He indicated the tire. "Need a hand?"

"Oh, officer. How very kind. Yes, please." Even her voice was beautiful. Figured. She gestured toward the jack, which Charlie would bet wasn't positioned properly. "I'm afraid I never learned. . . ."

Yeah, Charlie'd already guessed that much. Going to his trunk, he shifted the bags aside to retrieve the chocks he kept back there, and he placed them behind the car's back tires. When she looked at him, her head slightly tilted to one side, he explained, "This car weighs over three tons, it's on wheels, and we're about to lift up one corner. Don't assume it won't roll off the jack."

"Oh, my," the woman said, sounding genuinely surprised.

It was amazing the things that never occurred to people.

"Is the parking brake on?"

"The parking . . . Should it be?"

"Always set the parking brake when jacking up a car."

"Oh!" She hurriedly opened the door and reached inside as if she expected the car to start rolling right then and there.

Charlie knelt next to the car and felt underneath. His suspicion was right. "You've got the jack in the wrong place. Years ago, cars were all built with solid body frames, and you could put the jack anywhere. Today, most cars, like this one, are built with unibody frames. The metal is a lot thinner. It can't support the weight of the car on a jack. Put it in the wrong place, and the metal can bend, or even give and puncture, and the car could come down."

Sheepishly, the woman said, "I have a cousin who is a car aficionado. She rebuilds classic cars. I'm afraid she would be very ashamed of my ignorance."

"Feel right here?" Charlie asked, reaching beneath the car and feeling for the right spot. The woman hesitated a moment, then placed her hand beside his. As she moved her hand where he showed her, her fingers brushed against his. She must've had the air on as cold as it went full blast right on her hands, because they were as cold as ice. Her lips parted with a gasp, her eyebrows rose and then drew together, then, finally, the corners of her mouth curved into a smile. "Feel that piece of metal? Rectangular, and about four inches long. That's where you want to put the jack."

Step-by-step, he showed her how to safely change a tire. Whoever this woman was, and whatever her family circumstance might be—money, certainly—no one had ever thought to show her before. Maybe they thought luxury cars never got flats. At least, he was glad to see, she was paying attention.

Once finished, he stood up and brushed his hands off. He expected a "thank you," but didn't get one. Rather, the woman stood silently, watching him, her head tipped to one side. With one arm wrapped around her waist and the other bent at the elbow in front of her, her hand at her chin, she looked very pensive, like that statue of that guy thinking. From behind those dark glasses, she was studying him, appraising him. Charlie felt like a fish in a bowl and this woman was a cat peering in at him. He did not like it.

She straightened her posture and smiled, nodding at him as if he'd passed muster. In confirmation of that impression, she said, "I like you."

 _Super_ , he thought. He tipped his head toward the tire. "That'll need to be replaced as soon as possible. It'll get you back to Port Angeles to the rental place, but take it slow. Spares are not the same as regular tires. Keep the speed to under fifty."

"I can see why my young cousin is so taken with your son," the woman said, removing her glasses to reveal eyes the color of honey.

Charlie staggered backward, his heart leaping into his throat.

"I'm Tanya, and I am," she touched the arm of her sunglasses to the corner of her mouth as she continued to grin, "very pleased to meet you, Chief Swan." She gestured toward the car, then shrugged one shoulder and smirked. Stepping towards him, she held her hand up, revealing a fingertip smudged black. "Please, forgive the pretense. I admit I manufactured an excuse to talk to you." As she spoke, she circled around him, eyeing him up from head to toe.

To Charlie, it felt as if his heart were being slammed against his rib cage with every beat, and his lungs had turned to stone. This one was not like the others, that girl and the man from the Thriftway. The way this one looked at him was openly predatory.

"Though I've yet to meet him, I've been told your son is very handsome. I can see where he gets it. You are a very attractive man, Charlie Swan. May I call you Charlie?"

Charlie glared at her.

"Ah. Perhaps not." She put more distance between them. "Gray will not be happy with me. I've made you angry. I do apologize."

"What do you want?" Charlie spat.

She studied him again, seriously this time. "I will be frank with you. There are very few people in this world whom I love, and you hold the lives of every one of them in your hands."

Charlie wouldn't have been able to say what he'd expected to hear, but it certainly hadn't been that.

"You are surprised," she said. "What surprises you more, I wonder—that you could be a threat to us, or that we could be capable of loving?"

"Both," he admitted before he could stop himself.

The woman's eyebrows rose. "Honesty is a rare quality, Chief Swan. Very few people possess it, but fewer still appreciate it in others." Her eyes held his, then she tipped her head to him. "Personally, I am in the minority who do, as I believe it saves more trouble than it causes," she said. "Love is not an emotion we get to experience often, but when we do, it is as fathomless as it is unconditional and irrevocable. And, as I said, the lives of all those I love are dependent on you. As are, I must add, those of everyone you love."

Charlie's eyes snapped to hers, and he exhaled loudly. _Edward._

The woman rose her hands in front of herself. "You are in no danger from us. I won't pretend we are at all comfortable with your knowledge of us . . . The danger, to all of us, lies elsewhere. If you were to even hint—"

Charlie scoffed. "Who'd believe me? You think I wanna get locked up in the looney bin?"

"It isn't other humans believing you where the threat lies."

Suddenly, Charlie understood why it had seemed to him like they were afraid of him. It was because they were. Of course, they weren't afraid of humans . . . "You mean it's with others like you."

"There are no others among our kind like us—understand that well. None other than we place the least value on human life, and there are a great many who do not like that we do. Were those in control to learn you were aware of our secret, they would not hesitate to kill not just you for knowing too much and all of us for not rectifying the situation ourselves, but your friends on the reservation as well," she gestured toward the houses around them, "and a great many your neighbors." Finally, very pointedly, she added, "And your son."

"The pack . . ." Charlie began to protest, but it was a weak attempt and it failed quickly.

"Would be slaughtered. Those who would come, would come in such numbers and with such weapons that even if the wolves and we were to fight side by side, they would annihilate us. They would massacre the tribe and half of Forks without a moment's regret. The loss of several hundreds of lives to silence a dozen would not faze them in the slightest."

 _Several hundred._

Charlie needed several deep breaths before he could speak. "Keep my mouth shut, or else. I get it. You think I didn't already get that? You think I'd've stood around watching that girl lead my son on—"

The woman's' eyes flared. "Do you have any comprehension of the risk Gray took in attacking James and Victoria?" she asked scathingly. "Did your four-legged friends tell you her shoulder was shattered? That—" she shook visibly as she struggled with her words, "—she was nearly killed?"

Charlie inhaled sharply in surprise and took a step backward.

"Gray is a very skilled fighter. We all are. We all know the threat we face from several others of our kind for choosing to live as we do, and as a result, we've all taken pains to learn how to defend ourselves. But James . . ." The woman took a moment to gain control of her emotions before continuing, but even after that, her voice trembled when she spoke. "Victoria was nothing. Gray defeated her easily. But James . . . She was no match for James. He had her . . . he could've . . ." The woman looked straight into Charlie's eyes. "He bit her. Twice. On the neck. He could've ended her life right then and there. Gray willingly risked her life because she knew first-hand the depravity they were capable of—they were the worst of our kind.

"And you accuse her of leading your son on."

A heavy silence settled over them after the woman's speech. No, Billy had not told him that the girl had nearly been killed. It had never even occurred to Charlie to ask if she'd been injured. Her motivation for doing what she did may've been self-interested, but the fact that her involvement had bought time for Jacob to get there couldn't be denied.

Still didn't mean he liked her being anywhere near Edward. Or was about to let this one know she'd gotten to him for a moment. "Emily is doing good, recovering well, the doctor said. Not that you've asked."

Charlie felt his heart beat twice before the woman answered.

"Touché. I hadn't. We, each of us, think first and foremost of those we ourselves care about. Sometimes, however, we can care about the same person."

A raindrop landed on Charlie's shoulder, and in Forks, raindrops were like ants at a picnic—there was no such thing as just one.

The woman smiled at him and nodded her head. "I stand by my initial impression, Chief Swan. I do like you." She went to the car and raised it off the jack with one hand. Charlie gaped, but he snapped his jaw shut before she looked back at him. She removed the chocks and returned them to him. "There is one other thing you should know. You didn't ask why the family unanimously decided against taking action as a result of your flea-bitten friends' failure to live up to their end of the treaty, in spite of the danger it places us all in. Ultimately, it was because of Gray. She threatened to stand between you and any of us who might choose to act. She vowed that we would have to go through her to get to you. And she meant it. Rather like your legend of Pocahontas. Maybe you should think about that for a bit before you judge her. Now, you'd best get inside. Wouldn't want you to catch a chill." She looked him up and down. "Although I'd bet you know how to warm back up."

Through his bedroom window, Edward watched the rain begin to fall again.

If there were any trace of it remaining after the rain they'd already gotten, this would erase it completely, he told himself.

As he sat at his desk with Gatsby open and ignored in front of him, Edward fiddled with his pen, letting it slide through is fingers and drop onto its point, creating a collection of little blue dots on his otherwise blank notebook page.

Against his will, his eyes returned to his phone. Not all trace would be gone completely, he corrected himself.

He dropped the pen, grabbed his phone, hid it in a drawer, and slammed the drawer shut. Then, elbows on his desk, he covered his face with his hands. Fuck, he wished he'd never gone back out into the woods, but that growl had still been echoing in the back of his head, and curiosity had gotten the better of him. He knew those woods, knew what inhabited them. Or he thought he had. There were no known wolf packs this far west, but despite both his father's and Grace's assurances it had to have been something else, he'd been as sure that that growl had been a wolf as he was of his own name. As he'd told Gray, a coyote's howl was nothing like a wolf's—it was much higher pitched, more of a bark. What they'd heard was a menacing, low, rumbling growl. Before the rain had started earlier, he'd grabbed his phone—and a can of bear spray—and made his way through the woods, back to where Grace and he had walked the day before. His head had been filled with his becoming the first person to document a wolf pack west of the Cascades in a century.

His eyes fell on the drawer. Seconds passed as the rain picked up, knocking against the window. Edward yanked open the drawer and grabbed his phone. Taking a deep breath, he pulled up his pictures for the umpteenth time, and there it was, just like all the other times he'd looked.

He'd made his way back to the spot where he and Grace had stood easily enough, but it had been harder to find evidence of what they'd heard than he'd expected. There should've been prints all over the forest floor, but he'd looked and looked and found nothing. But then, finally, when he'd been just about to give up, he'd found a print. Just one. The single print he'd found was definitely canine—Edward had been able to identify animal tracks since he was ten. The print was also the size of a fucking dinner plate. He had placed his own foot next to it for comparison and guessed it was eight or nine inches across. What had growled at them would have to be the size of a fucking Clydesdale to get a paw that big.

He set his phone down and pressed his hands together in front of his face as if in prayer.

What the hell had growled at them?

The garage door opened, and Edward jumped at the sound. He looked toward his bedroom door, frozen until he heard the door leading from the garage to the kitchen close, then he jumped out of his seat like a spooked rabbit.

"Dad?" he called out as he hurried down the hall.

"You expectin' someone else?"

His father stood at the kitchen counter, pulling boxes and cans out of eco-friendly, reusable bags. Edward joined him, mechanically taking the deli meats and putting them in the fridge.

His father looked at him, his hand stopped halfway to the cabinet, still holding a box of pasta.

"What?" Edward asked.

"Nothing," his father said, he eyebrows raised and shaking his head.

From the corner of his eye, Edward watched his father. When his sidelong glance met his father's, both looked away.

More than once, the words were on the tip of Edward's tongue, but at the thought of telling his father he had pictures of an eight inch wide, canine paw print on his phone, nervous—hell, borderline hysterical—laughter threatened to bubble up inside him, and he had to clear his throat to keep it down.

"Coming down with something?" his father asked after one such time.

"I don't think so."

"Hmmm. So, what's with the burst of helpfulness?"

"What are you talking about? I always help you put stuff away."

"Mhmm."

 _Well, sometimes_ , Edward thought to himself.

"Everything okay?" his father asked.

"Yeah, sure. You?"

"Super."

Edward put a two liter of Sprite in the fridge.

"Get a run in before the rain? Three today, right?" his father asked, referring to the number of miles his training schedule called for today.

Closing the refrigerator door, Edward saw his schedule tacked up with a magnet from the Space Needle in Seattle, and he realized he'd completely forgotten about going for his run.

"No . . . No, I'll hit the treadmill in a bit."

"Do anything today?"

"No," Edward answered much too quickly, the pictures on his phone on his mind like a guilty secret. "Just tried to read that book for English. Don't really like it. Grace's already read it," he said, the words slipping out. He saw his father's posture change at the sound of her name. "She didn't like it either," he said because not saying anything felt uncomfortable.

His father set down the box of frozen lasagna he'd just pulled from the bag and squeezed his eyes shut. When he pressed his fingertips against his closed lids, Edward braced for another argument. He could not understand for the life of him why his normally easy-going, open-minded father was so inexplicably set against Grace and her family. It had something to do with Jake's father, Edward was sure, and he resented their talking about her behind his back.

Sighing, his father picked up the lasagna and handed it to him. Edward put it in the freezer, still expecting the argument.

"I ever tell you, your Aunt Gertie started the library?"

"What?" Edward asked, both surprised at what he'd heard and confused that his father had said it out of nowhere like that. "What?"

"Your Aunt Gertie, she started the first library in Forks. About 1940, I guess it was."

"Um, who . . ." The only aunts Edward had ever heard of had been his grandmother's sisters, but he'd never heard that name before that he could remember.

"Great, great aunt, I guess she was. She was my grandmother's sister. Died when I was about twenty. She had to be over ninety."

"Oh." Grandparents and their siblings were as far back as Edward had ever heard of. "And she. . . ."

"Started the library. Wasn't much, just a couple of shelves her husband built on an enclosed porch and whatever books she could lay her hands on."

"In 1940."

"'Bout then. Yeah."

 _Huh_. Edward thought to himself. "That's . . . that's kinda cool."

"Your grandmother would've been about ten at the time."

Edward didn't remember his grandparents. He'd only been four when they died.

"Talk to that girl today?" his father asked, not looking at him.

"She has a name," Edward grumbled under this breath. "She was doing something with her mother this morning. They had to run out to Port Angeles and Sequim to pick up some stuff for the house."

His father made a grunt-like noise in response as he folded up the empty shopping bag.

Edward was afraid the argument he'd been expecting had arrived. He rubbed the tip of his finger over the rough surface of a spot of banged up Formica countertop. "I was hoping we could do something this evening." He shrugged. "Hang out and watch a movie or something." He picked at the chipped Formica and bit the corner of his lip.

His father sighed heavily, then gave him one curt nod.

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Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it!

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Author's Notes: Clydesdales are known for the size of their feet. One of their horseshoes is about the size of a dinner plate and weighs about 5 pounds.

A Clydesdale can grow to about six feet (Or 18 hands. Horses are measured in units called hands. A hand is about four inches.) Horses are measured to the "withers." If you feel at the end of a horse's mane, you will find a small flat spot, which is the withers. When a horse puts their head down to eat, this is the highest point of the horse. So a horse's height is not measured to the top of their head.

Mature Clydesdales weigh between 1600 and 2400 pounds, as much as a Volkswagen beetle.

Edward's Aunt Gertie would've been about 92 when she died when Charlie was 20. The story of the Forks library beginning by a woman putting books for people to borrow on shelves her husband had built on their enclosed porch is true, although it was 1941 to be precise. I found it on the library's website and thought it was cool. Edward's paternal grandmother's family would've been an important family in town, owning the local general store, and a sister starting a lending library. If you've ever watched Little House on the Prairie, they'd have been the Oleson's, but nicer.

As of 2006, the Forks library had 30,000 books, and Forks had 3,120 residents. That's almost 10 books per resident, and they check out 65,000 items annually—that's 20 per resident.

And of course, the woman's name is Gertie, or Gertrude, just like Gray's human friend. Gertrude was the 23rd most popular name for baby girls in the U.S. in 1900 and 27th un 1901, the year the girls were all born.

This is on Charlie's mind because of the book Gray gave him.


	13. Chapter 13

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!_

This story is set in 2012.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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 _HAPPY OLYMPICS EVERYONE!_

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Chapter 13

.~.

 _Five hours and twenty-eight minutes._ Gray strummed her fingers on the armrest as they—finally—drew within three miles of the house and she could hear her family's thoughts.

Beside her Esme gave her a sympathetic half-smile. _It wasn't that bad._

Gray clenched her jaw. Yes, it had been that bad.

"You know keeping up appearances is even more important now than ever," Esme said in an attempt to console her.

Yes, Gray knew that. And she knew a family moving to such a remote location as Forks would naturally need to make trips to larger communities nearby to make necessary purchases in setting up house. She also knew it would be perfectly normal for the family's teenage children to accompany their parent on such trips. What she did not know was why it was so all-fired important for it to be her making this particular trip. It could just as easily have been one or more of her siblings. When, one-by-one, her family members had found their mates, no one had tried to force them to spend time apart.

"I do understand," Esme said as memories of the early days of Carlisle's and her relationship flowed through her mind—the opposite of helpful, given how Gray felt at the moment.

 _Sorry_ , Esme offered.

"I'm the one who should apologize," Gray responded, although given her current mood, the words sounded less sincere than they really were.

"There is nothing for you to be sorry for," Esme insisted. "You have no more control over what you can hear than we have." She peeked at Gray from the corner of her eye. Her thoughts were overjoyed as she reminded her, "We can hear others' private moments, too."

Gray glanced at Esme, then immediately wished she hadn't. She knew exactly what private moment Esme was referring to without needing to hear it confirmed by her thoughts. Gray was sure she would be beet red, were she human.

"We couldn't be happier for you," Esme said. _Well, that's not exactly true. . . ._

Gray's eyes fell to her hands on her lap. There was no getting around the obstacles standing between where they were now and happily ever after.

Esme stretched out her arm, and took Gray's hand. With a smile, she promised it would work out. "We all had our own issues to deal with ," she said. "My past with Charles." _Rosalie_. Gray met Esme's eyes. She looked away, ashamed. It was selfish of her to act like no one else had their own problems, or that hers rivaled Esme's and Rosalie's.

"I know it's not the same," Esme said.

Her family all missed their mates when they were apart, but the anxiety Gray felt being away from Edward was something more. It was all-consuming. Humans were just so fragile.

"Give him a little credit. He did make it through seventeen years, you know."

"So did I."

And who knew what his father and friends were telling him while she was away. . . .

Pride increased the volume of Tanya's thoughts, and surprised at what she heard from her cousin, Gray turned her head toward home. Her lips twitching with amusement, she released a breath of laughter.

"Tanya is _baking_."

Occasionally, Carlisle would take a treat of some kind in to whatever hospital he was working at, especially as an icebreaker when first arriving. Usually, Esme bit the bullet and held her breath through the unpleasant task—as she had for the cookies Gray'd presented Edward with.

"Guess you're off the hook this time," Gray said.

A moment later, the look of amusement on Gray's face changed to one of disbelief as she heard fragments of a conversation with Edward's father pass through Tanya's mind.

"Please, tell me they didn't," she pled.

"Now, Gray, we did discuss this." Esme attempted to remind her that it actually been her own idea, but Gray groaned, covered her face with her hands, and slid low in her seat, just like any other teenager whose family had embarrassed her in front of the object of her affections.

The moment they were off the one-oh-one and on the private drive leading to the house, Gray leapt from the car and raced home ahead of Esme. In the kitchen, she found a scene fit for the final seconds of an infomercial for high end cookware: a beautiful and spotlessly clean kitchen, a beautiful and spotlessly clean woman holding a cookie sheet covered with neat rows of perfectly baked cookies, all matching exactly in shape and size.

"What are you doing?" Gray asked.

"Do they look alright?" Tanya asked as she set the tray down. She inspected her creations, crinkling her nose in disgust. "They smell revolting, of course, but I suppose humans don't have a strong enough sense of smell to notice."

"Why are you making cookies?"

"If this house is going to smell this bad from now on, do let me know," Rosalie said scathingly from another room. "So I can pack."

"If that's all it'd take!" Gray hollered back.

"Now, Gray—"

Hearing in Tanya's mind what had inspired her to suffer through working with human food, Gray cringed, mortified.

"You argued with him? Tanya, he already can't stand the sight of me with his son."

"I like him. He's got nerve." _And he's is very good looking, rugged, manly . . ._

Gray smacked her forehead. "Have you lost your mind? Edward's father is not just another man you can add to your collection."

When Carlisle and Esme entered the kitchen, Gray looked between the three of them accusingly while Carlisle's thoughts showed her his own meeting with Edward's father.

"You too? You all planned this between you?" Turning to Esme, she asked, "You got me out of town so they could accost Edward's father?"

"'Accost' is a bit strong," Carlisle responded. "We talked to him—as I might remind you, you yourself suggested—that's all."

"You may've simply spoken to him," Gray said to Carlisle while glaring at Tanya with her hands at her hips.

 _I like him._ Folding her arms defiantly, Tanya replayed every moment of her encounter with Edward's father from his pulling up behind her to her driving off in her mind for Gray to see. _He was respectful when he thought I was human. He explained what he was doing without talking down to me. He never ogled me."_

"And you repaid that by ogling him instead?"

"That was impolite of me," Tanya admitted.

"Impolite. Is that how you think your circling him like a hawk appeared to him?"

"Ah," Tanya said, a thread of self-reproach creeping into her mind. "Yes. From his perspective, I can see where he might have mistaken my interest."

"You think?" Gray buried her face in her hands. "Carlisle makes me sound like some tragic heroine. Tanya acts like a predator stalking its prey while making me into some kind of avenging warrior princess."

"Everything I said to him about you was perfectly true," Carlisle said.

Gray raised her eyebrow. "You'd walked the earth for several lifetimes but had never met anyone quite like me?" She scoffed. "Really, Carlisle."

"I meant it." _No one dismisses you_.

Deeply moved, Gray lowered her eyes.

Tanya's thoughts were fixated on her encounter with Edward's father, trying to see it through his eyes, and she grew even more impressed. He'd stood his ground. Seeing her appraisal of him through a new light, from his perspective, his knowing what she was and what she was capable of, he hadn't backed down an inch. Well, there had been those few off-balance backward steps when she'd first removed her glasses, but she wrote those off as surprise, nothing more. _Nerve, indeed._ She considered him to be a very intriguing man. _Not just handsome, but brave as well . . ._

"Tanya," Gray said warningly, not liking in the least where her cousin's thoughts were heading.

. . . _and we actually argued—knowing what I am, he argued with me. Incredible. . . ._

* * *

Finally able to see Edward again, Gray parked in front of his house, her anticipation so great, she hardly noticed the foul smelling plate sitting on the passenger seat Tanya had made her bring. Curling her fingers around the heated steering wheel, she closed her eyes and listened. Scores of heartbeats thumped one over another in her field of hearing, but she could distinguish Edward's from the rest. Fractions of seconds ticked by, each feeling as if it lasted for hours on end, until she heard the jostling of the vertical blinds, and Edward looked out the window. As always, the first moment of seeing him sent shockwaves of excitement through her.

The blinds swayed shut, and Gray opened the car door. She was halfway out of the car before she remembered the plate of cookies. As she reached back for them, the front door opened, and Edward hurried out. She could hear his breath catch in his throat when he saw her, and after what felt like an eternity of her every desire being within her sight but just out of her grasp, Gray stepped into the circle of his arms and knew she no longer needed wonder if there was a heaven for someone like her. What more could she ever want than to feel his arms around her forever?

* * *

Edward would never get used to this. The way it felt to see Grace, to see her look at him like she did . . . It rocked him to the core. Grace was way out of his league, and he knew it—if he hadn't already known it, seeing her get out of the car looking like a super model would've driven it home in spades. She was wearing shoes with heels so high he couldn't imagine how she could walk in them, black skinny jeans that didn't leave a single curve to the imagination, a long, flowing, sleeveless silky white top that came up high on her neck and left her shoulders bare, and a long necklace of small, glittery black beads tied in a knot half way down. But it wasn't just what she looked like or what she wore. Forks was all he knew, but it would never hold someone like Grace, someone who could play Beethoven from memory and quote poetry from Ancient Greece. Ask anyone around Forks about Plato, and they'd most likely warn you not to let the kids play with it near the couch or on the carpet. Someone like Grace belonged somewhere with culture, somewhere with art museums and orchestras playing in grand concert halls. Somewhere fashion meant more than not mixing different camo patterns. Forks wouldn't hold her for long, but for however long she was there, he wouldn't let go.

Circling his hands around her neck, his thumbs stroking her jaw, Edward pressed his lips to the top of her head. He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her arms, and he shivered at the feeling of her bare skin against his. The things he wanted to do with her. . . .

Her arms felt cold, but at least her hands were warmer. Even her wardrobe wasn't fit for Forks—they got mud that wouldn't just ruin those shoes, but would suck them right off her feet.

"You must be cold," he said.

She shook her head, never lifting it from his chest.

"Never less so."

"C'mon. Let's go inside."

"My cousin, Tanya, made these," she said, handing him the plate and looking skeptical. "I'm reasonably sure they won't poison you, but whether they're at all edible, I couldn't vouch for."

"Your family likes to bake," he said as he accepted the plate of cookies.

"It's a very recent development."

* * *

Grace slipped her shoes off and curled herself into the corner of the couch, tucking her feet under herself. "Do anything interesting today?" she asked.

Tripping over his own two feet, Edward had to catch himself on the back of the couch. Had he done anything interesting that day? Did finding paw prints too big to be from any animal he knew of count as interesting?

"Edward?" Concern filled Grace's voice, and she made to rise from the couch, her worried eyes on him.

"In Forks?" he asked with a laugh that sounded forced even to his own ears. He cleared his throat as he sat in the middle of the couch, close to her. "Get everything you needed in Sequim?"

"A Sears _and_ a JC Penney's? What more could anyone want? What about you? Did you get any further on Gatsby?"

The reminder of the reading assignment only served to keep Edward's mind on the pictures on his phone that had not let him think about much of anything else since he found the prints. "Not really."

"What's the teacher like? Mrs. Mason, right? It's a coincidence, but my birth name is Masen. E N, though. Not O N."

"Really?"

As ordinary a detail as a last name was, it was just one more little piece of information about Grace, one more little thing about her that he now knew. The H1N1 epidemic was three years ago. She would've been fourteen when her parents died. It was a little surprising that she'd changed her last name at that age. Keeping her birth name or, maybe, using both names would be more likely, he thought. But dropping her parents' name completely? Then again, what did he know? Whatever had made her decide to do it, she had to have had a reason. Rather than ask, he answered her question. He wanted to know all the little details about her there were to know, but he'd let her tell him in her own time. For all he knew, the reason was a painful one to her.

"She's pretty good," he said. "Bit, um, overzealous sometimes. Gotta warn you, though—she thinks Gatsby is the greatest. She's, like, totally fanatical about it."

Gray nodded. "So, not particularly well read, then?"

Edward laughed and shook his head. He scratched his forehead. "Yeah, please don't say that to her."

"If she is particularly fond of the time period, I'd be happy to recommend a few titles to her."

They spent a short while talking about school and teachers, about the kids and who liked or didn't like who.

"There's about eighty kids in the junior year," Edward said. Again, he felt the limitations of a town the size of Forks. "There were probably, what, about eight hundred in just your grade at your school in Chicago." That was almost twice the number of the entire student body in their school. What would it be like to go to a school that big? It'd be weird, he thought. You'd probably graduate never having spoken two words to at least half the class.

"A couple of dozen only. I attended a small, private school for girls."

"Really?"

Gray hummed in confirmation and spoke very pompously when she said the name, over emphasizing each word. "Miss Leonard's School for Girls." She leaned forward and arched her eyebrow, whispering and grinning widely as if she were about to share something particularly scandalous. "I played field hockey—much to the very severe disapproval of my grandmother." Leaning back, she looked at the ceiling, her smile growing. "Oh, how you would laugh at the uniforms we wore." Her voice turned wistful, and she looked off across the room. "We loved it, Trudy, Sybbie, and I. My heart raced, and I ended up completely out of breath, but I loved every minute of it. It was exhilarating, the opportunity to run, like nothing else." She lowered her eyes and her voice. "I miss it. I miss them."

Edward ran the back of his fingers down her leg, from her knee to her ankle. "Sybbie was another friend of yours?"

Keeping her eyes lowered, she nodded. "Sybil. She, Trudy, and I were inseparable. We were like the female Musketeers."

"Your best friends were named Gertrude and Sybil. When were you born, like, 1850?"

"1901."

He laughed.

"We got into so much trouble, we three," she said, the smile returning to her lips and voice but not quite reaching her eyes. "We drove our poor teachers to distraction. But I was the worst. Probably because I was the least touchable—I knew I could get away with it, which is no great credit to my character, I know, but I did warn you that I was dreadfully spoiled. I believe I was in the headmistress' office as frequently as she herself was. I'd have been expelled multiple times, I'm sure, had I been almost anyone else. The Dishonorable Miss Masen, she would call me."

Grace's gaze drifted away, and her tone turned remorseful. "Good ol' Miss Leonard. She was a remarkable woman, really. Strong, proud—in a good way, not like me. I was vain. Still am, I admit. But she had a perfect right to be proud. She built up a good school for her girls. A real, proper school, not some silly thing called a school. She fought hard for her girls—'her girls,' that was what she always called us—wanted us to go on and continue our education and change the world. She deserved better than she ever got from me. When she died, I sent flowers with a note saying 'From a former student who wishes now she'd been a better one.'"

Some of the things Grace had said struck Edward as odd, but he didn't question them. Instead, he asked, "Why didn't your grandmother like you playing field hockey?"

Grace's eyebrows rose halfway up her forehead. "A respectable young lady? Playing sports? Running? Like a boy?" She placed her hand on her chest as if scandalized at the notion. "Heaven forbid! I might've broken a sweat! A real lady never perspired." Grace laughed, covering her mouth with her fingertips, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "She did not appreciate my pointing out I wasn't a Lady at all, merely an Honorable. And of course, I might've broken a bone, but that I don't think ever occurred to her. If it did, I think she would've preferred that. She'd have thought it served me right and was no more than I'd deserved. At least it would've stopped me making a spectacle of myself—for a while."

Edward was floored. He had no idea what to say to that.

"We don't have a field hockey team," he said, still trying to wrap his mind around what Grace had just said. It was incomprehensible to him.

The light dimming in Grace's eyes was as visible as the sun passing behind a cloud.

She rubbed her chest, directly over her heart. In a hollow, derisive voice she said, "I couldn't pass the physical now."

A spike of concern stabbed at Edward. Had her heart been affected when she got sick? They'd hiked about two miles in the Hoh the other day. Granted, it was really more of a walk than a hike—the grade being mostly level and the ground smooth and clear—and two miles wasn't any great distance, but it wasn't insubstantial either. Without stopping to think that he really couldn't just blurt out a question like that, he blurted the question out.

"You could say that," she said, her eyes focused on her lap.

"But, you're, I mean, you're okay. Right?" Worry burned in Edward's stomach and throat like the shot of whiskey he'd taken at a party at Mike Newton's house once. How cold her skin always felt, her pallor, the shadows under her eyes . . . He reached out and took her hand in his. "Grace?"

She looked at him, solemn and still before she dropped her eyes to their joined hands and stroked his index finger with hers. "Right as rain."

He relaxed somewhat, but not fully. His mouth was dry, and he swallowed and licked his lips. Why couldn't she pass a sports physical if she was okay? "Do you, do you keep in touch with them? Trudy and Sybbie?"

She shook her head and wrapped an arm around her legs.

"You should look them up on Facebook," he suggested.

A small laugh, almost like a cough, escaped her, but then she shook her head again. "They moved on. I moved on. Had to."

Their hands were still together, their fingers entwined, and he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She'd lost so much, and he wanted to give her everything, to see her want for nothing, miss out on nothing.

"Come here," she said, tugging gently on his hand.

Edward moved toward her, one hand on the back of the couch and the other on the cushion, close enough to Grace that his thumb brushed against her hip, and as he leaned over her, he traced an arc on over her jeans. Had any one ever felt for someone like he felt for Grace? He couldn't believe they had. This, what he felt for her, was theirs and theirs alone—his to give and hers to take. Beneath him, she slid lower on the couch and reached for him, sliding her hand around the back of his neck. Edward's blood raced through him as he lowered himself to her and her hand slipped up into his hair as her other arm wrapped around him, pulling him more firmly against herself. Everything other than Grace faded away. Nothing existed but the feel of her body, the sound of her breathing, the amber gold of her eyes, the rich mahogany of her hair, the scent of her perfume, like the forest smelled after a spring rain with rays of sunlight streaming through the newly budding leaves. Their eyes held the other's for two beats of his heart. She breathed his name, and he inhaled the breath just as his lips closed over hers.

The rush of kissing Grace was something Edward would never get used to. He traced his tongue along her bottom lip, the taste of her flooding his senses. She shifted beneath him, moving her legs. They parted, making room for him, one wrapping around his, her foot sliding up and down his calf. His head was in a fog. His body was on fire, reacting to hers. Could she feel what she was doing to him? God . . . in this position they could be . . . He felt her fingers curl against the small of his back, gathering the fabric of his shirt and sliding it up his back, and he groaned when she traced circles on his skin. His skin was so heated, hers felt cool in comparison.

"Is this okay?" she whispered.

He closed his eyes tightly and pressed his forehead against her bare shoulder. Breathing hard, he nodded. Okay? Her hands on him was fucking amazing.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" he asked.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" she asked, repeating his question with a soft giggle as her hands slid up his back under his shirt, pulling it up as she went. Edward could feel the silk of the top she wore against the slim strip of skin she'd exposed on his stomach.

The skin on her shoulder was perfectly smooth, like porcelain or marble. And, he learned, it tasted as sweet as sugar. His hands roamed her sides, learning her curves, her waist, her hips . . . He remembered thinking the first time he saw her that a girl as beautiful as Grace had to have a body to match, and did she . . . She felt like an hour glass.

He slipped his hand behind her knee as her foot continued to slide over his calf, and he hitched her leg higher and ran his hand up the back of her thigh as far as he could. God, if he moved his hand just a little to the right he'd . . . he'd be. . . .

He was getting too carried away. In some small part of his brain where he could still think straight, he knew it, but, fuck, he didn't care. He shifted slightly, and he brushed against her, and shockwaves of the most amazing thing he'd ever felt stormed through him. It felt nothing like when he . . . He moaned from deep in his chest, or maybe it had been the both of them who'd moaned, he couldn't tell, but just the thought that he'd drawn a sound like that from Grace . . . He trembled from head to foot. He wanted to thrust himself against her like that again and again. Oh, God, in this position, they really could be. . . .

His mouth covered every inch of the skin on her shoulder, up her neck to her jaw. Her hand tangled in his hair, holding him in place. He could feel every breath she drew. He could feel the perfect swell of her chest pressed so firmly against his, and he wanted to feel it under his palms. Was she wearing a bra? Her shoulders were uncovered. On the rare occasions it was warm enough and some of the girls wore those skimpy little, thin strapped tops, he could sit and stare for hours at the little peaks of their bras that would show, and sometimes they wore those tops when it wasn't quite warm enough, and then . . . It was hard for him to drag his eyes away. But this wasn't just any girl, this was Grace, _his_ Grace, she was _his_ , and her shoulders were uncovered, and there were no straps visible at all. Oh, God . . . Was she not . . . Was there nothing covering her but that flimsy, silky top?

He pushed himself up on one arm, and that arm shook under his weight. Grace lay beneath him, looking up at him. Her hair was a mess, and he had done that. Her lips were parted, and her eyes were on him. She looked as lost as he felt, and he had made her look like that.

He swallowed hard. His eyes trailed down her body, lingering on her chest, watching it rise and fall as she breathed, the way the silk draped over her curves, and she knew he was looking, and she was letting him.

"Can I touch you?" he asked. The words had come out in a rush, all in one desperate, gasping breath. "Please, Grace, let me touch you."

Rather than answer, she took his hand and kissed his palm. She then cupped his hand over her breast.

Beneath him, Grace exhaled with a strangled cry, her hand still covering his, and her back arched off the couch. Her head fell back, and her mouth fell open, and her breath came in ragged, shaky gasps and pants. She made the most incredible sounds, whimpering when he added his other hand, massaging her breasts, moaning when he rolled her nipples between his fingers. She took her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down hard, breathing loud, rough breaths through her nose, and Edward knew she was fighting the need to cry out because he was too. He was touching Grace, and the way she was reacting to his touch . . . Every sound that escaped her went directly to the to the now painful throbbing in his jeans.

Edward changed positions. He supported his weight between one foot on the ground, one knee on the cushion, and one arm on the back of the couch, and he leaned in to kiss her. He moved from her mouth down her neck and continued past her collarbone, feeling the silk of her top under his lips. He moved his body lower as his mouth replaced his hand, Grace's fingers threading through his hair, guiding him. When his lips closed over her, he moaned, and she gasped. Her back arched further; then her body froze in his arms. She fell silent and still. She didn't move, and Edward continued to kiss her breasts over her clothes. He wanted the silk out of his way. She was wearing a bra—he could feel the lace—and he wanted to see it, to see her, to feel her skin. Her hands were under his shirt. Could he . . . ? Would she let him . . . ? He gathered the hem of her shirt in his hand.

Grace gasped and grabbed his wrist. In a guttural, husky voice she breathed, "'S too much. 'S too much. Oh, God. Edward, stop. Stop. I can't . . . I can't."

Edward pulled away as if he'd been scalded. Fuck, he'd gone too far. He shouldn't have tried to . . . He should've asked . . . His heart, which had been pounding like mad seconds ago, felt as if it had stopped, and his body felt like it had turned to stone. He was so aroused, the sudden shock of stopping hurt. An apology was on the tip of his tongue, but she pressed her fingers to his lips, hushing him.

Grace lay perfectly still beneath him, her fingers still touching his lips, her face twisted as if something hurt her, but then she breathed heavily as the tension in her face and body eased, and she smiled up at him. She put one arm behind her head and traced patterns on his chest with her fingers, and he breathed easier. The looked at each other, smiling sappy, drunken smiles, and, Edward still breathing hard, they laughed together.

His body sagged. "Um."

"Yeah."

He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. His body still hummed. What blood remained in his veins still raced.

"I . . . um," Edward began, but he had no idea what to say. Should he say, "Wow, that was amazing?" Should he not say anything? She didn't appear at all mad or upset, but should he apologize in case he had gone too far anyway?

"Look at you," Grace said, looking pleased and rocking their joined hands back and forth. "You're all pink and sweaty. And your hair," She ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing it, "is a mess."

"Yours is too."

And her top was pretty wrinkled, too. Especially there on the side, where he'd cinched it up in his fist. She was neither pink nor sweaty, though. They both laughed, but Grace dropped her hand and her eyes when he commented on it.

"A lady never sweats." She looked at the ground for a moment before standing and gesturing to the other side of the room where they had a restored, vintage pinball machine and a Space Invaders arcade game, in addition to the pool table. Uncharacteristically stumbling over her words, she said, "Perhaps we ought to . . . Something rather safer, should your father come down."

 _Oh, God!_

Edward could've kicked himself. His father was just upstairs . . . If he had come down and found them . . . He'd have hit the ceiling.

Grace crossed the room, and Edward's eyes followed her every movement, watching the way her body swayed with her steps. He'd spent years watching girls walk—walking toward him, walking away from him, crossing a room, in sneakers, in high-heeled shoes . . . Grace didn't walk like other girls. There was an elegance to every move she made so apparent that even a kid from a middle-of-nowhere town like him could see it. She all but floated.

Watching her walk made him wonder what she'd meant with that whole "not a lady, just an honorable" thing she'd said a little while ago had meant. She was definitely all girl.

He could vouch for that. Fuck, could he. . . .

Standing in front of the pinball machine, Grace read the high scores and asked who Jake was.

"Friend of mine. The one whose father sold us my truck," he answered, joining her. Edward had a PlayStation in his room, but there was just some kick he and his friends got out of playing the old Space Invaders game. It was ridiculous, really, what used to pass for graphics. He supposed kids back then thought it was groovy. The pinball machine, though, that really was cool. Jake had all five high scores. Edward was pretty good, but no one could beat Jake. He had mad reflexes. "Do you like pinball?"

Grace looked at him from the corner of her eyes, smirking. She turned back to the machine, and her smirk spread into a wide grin. Looking at the machine, she tipped her head to one side and sighed.

"Poor Jake," she said, then shrugged. "Let it be a lesson to him."

Edward grabbed the cup of quarters they kept on a small shelf between the two games.

"You think you can beat Jake?"

"Blindfolded and in boxing gloves."

* * *

Lights from the game flashed, bells and buzzers sounded, and points began to rack up, but Gray's attention was only on them in the most peripheral of ways. Foremost in her mind were . . . the activities she and Edward had engaged in. At that moment, that her mind was capable of thinking about multiple things at once was a curse like it never had been before.

She hadn't wanted to stop. She wanted to never have to stop. Where Edward like her, they wouldn't have to, not for days on end, weeks even, and then only to hunt before starting again. But Edward was not like her, and it had been getting harder and harder to be careful, and she needed to be careful, so very, very careful. Even now, she was half desperate for something—anything—to distract her. It would be so easy to pick up where they'd left off . . . She just _wanted_ so badly . . . _needed_ so badly. . . .

When Rosalie had found Emmett, it had taken a full decade before anyone could stand to be around them, their relationship had been so intense.

One measly decade. Gray would need at least two with Edward.

Maybe more. . . .

But through the lingering exhilaration, a worrying thought barged its way into her head, bringing with it a memory she'd much rather forget. From the corner of her eye, she watched Edward. What was he thinking? What was he thinking of her, of her character, of the type of girl she was?

"My dad told me something before," he said.

"Oh?" Gray responded a little to enthusiastically, jumping at the opportunity to let his voice distract her, remind her, of everything she needed to be distracted from and reminded of. Her hands gripped the sides of the pinball machine with nearly enough force to leave dents in the metal. "What did he say?"

"He said my great grandmother's sister started the Forks Library."

Ignored, the little silver ball rolled between the paddles.

"You lost," he teased.

"You distracted me. What was that about the library?" Gray asked, tamping down the elation she felt. She didn't need what he'd said repeated. Even with all the tangents her mind was running off in at that moment, she'd heard every syllable. She'd even heard what hadn't been said. Included in the book of drawings she'd given Edward's father was a picture of Gertie Dillard arranging books available to be borrowed from the very modest little lending library she'd put together. It couldn't be a coincidence that his father had suddenly thought of that old bit of family history. He had opened the book after all. He'd looked through the pictures she'd drawn and had passed on the story of his great, great aunt's contribution to the city to Edward as a result. Gray couldn't be happier.

Edward's phone vibrated, and he checked it. His eyes turned hard, and he shut the phone off and shoved it away. Suspecting who it had been dampened Gray's excitement, but only marginally.

"Your great grandmother's sister started the Forks Library?" she asked.

"Yeah. Back in, like, 1940. Started with just a couple shelves on her porch. He just brought it up out of nowhere."

"It must've made a great difference to many in the community. So soon after the Depression, not many families would've had the money for books."

The ghost of a different Charlie Swan floated through Gray's mind. She could see him walking from his aunt and uncle's house toward home as clearly as if he were standing in front of her now. A book Esme had donated was tucked under his arm. _"Afternoon, Miss Rochester,"_ he'd said, tipping his cap to her. It was not long afterward that he'd left for boot camp. In the book she'd given Edward's father, she'd included a picture of him waving goodbye to his family as he'd boarded the train.

She'd have to pick up a new sketch book or two. She had a head full of memories she could share with Edward's father, and that, hopefully, his father would share with him.

If not, she'd just draw them all again.

Upstairs, a door slammed shut loudly enough that Edward raised his eyes to the ceiling.

"Um," he mumbled. He chuckled uncomfortably and fidgeted, as if he could hear his father's thoughts as well. Suffice it to say the man was not thinking of his Great Aunt Gertie's front porch library at the moment. He'd been pacing the length of the house, then sitting down, only to get up and resume his pacing, grumbling under his breath and swearing vociferously in his head the entire time she'd been there. Every instinct the man possessed was to protect his son from her. It was excruciating to him to stay upstairs and leave her alone with him, but he knew how coming down and looming over them would look to Edward, and given the tension between them already, he was afraid to risk it, afraid it would push Edward farther from him—and closer to her.

To spare Edward from feeling he needed to say something, to make some excuse, Gray pulled the plunger on the pinball game and sent the second ball into play.

"Why was your grandmother so against you playing field hockey?" he asked.

The ball bounced off the paddles and out of play.

"Sorry," he said, his sheepish tone contradicted by the gleam in his eyes.

"I'm beginning to think you're trying to protect your friend's high scores," she said, gently poking him in the stomach, striving to appear casual. "But your attempt will be in vain."

Being from the generation he was, it was to be expected he would question an attitude like her grandmother's. She should never have brought up such a potentially mine-laden subject, but with everything she had to keep from him, at least for the present, being able to share something about herself she'd enjoyed so much during her human life had been like a breath of fresh air, and she hadn't been able to resist.

"I'm sorry," Edward said, seeing her how his question had unsettled her. "You don't have to answer if—"

"No," she said, laying her hand over his, her eyes noting the undeniable differences between his skin and hers. "It's okay."

Edward turned his hand over, and their fingers slipped together like second nature.

Did he notice the differences between their hands, the cold, stone-like hardness of hers versus the warmth and life of his own? He had to. What did he tell himself to explain it away?

"My grandmother was one of the old school, you could say." The very old school. "She was a woman of a staunchly Victorian mindset trapped in a century that was increasingly leaving her and those like her behind, while dragging them along with it. Wives should defer to their husbands, daughters to their fathers, all that sort of thing."

Edward's face showed his disbelief plainly.

Gray worried she'd said too much. Describing her grandmother as Victorian had been a bad slip. She could see him struggling to make sense of what she'd said.

"You've got to be kidding me. Does anyone actually think like that?"

"You'd be surprised," she said honestly, "how many people's thoughts differ from what they say.

"My grandmother was an old woman, a product of a different time," she said. "I feel for her. I do. I didn't then, but I didn't understand her well enough. I never even attempted to. But it's difficult . . . being trapped in a world that has moved on without you."

"I don't remember my grandparents," he said. "My dad's parents, I mean. I was only about four when they died."

"Your mother died when you were three, and your grandparents when you were four?"

"Yeah."

Gray felt the enormity of the loss Edward's father had suffered. It had not been unlike that of her grandmother, first losing her daughter, then her son-in-law and granddaughter only months later. Of course, in Edward's father's case, he and his wife had been in the midst of divorcing at the time of her accident. It had not been like the loss her own father had suffered when her mother had died, but he had lost his wife nonetheless. That the loss had happened sometime before her death did not lessen it.

"Your poor father." A guilty weight pressed down on her. "You're all each other has," she whispered.

And her first instinct after she'd realized what Edward was to her had been to take him, to take him without a single thought as to what she'd be taking from him or from whom she'd be taking him.

"My mom's mother is still alive," Edward said. He stroked the back of her fingers with his thumb, but Gray saw a mask slide over his face. Not once in the time they'd known each other had she seen anything other than openness in his eyes, but now they were shuttered. "We're not close, though. I mean, not like . . . you know. She lives in California." He leaned toward her, elbows on the machine as if about to share a secret. When he glanced toward the stairs before speaking, that impression was strengthened. "I think she blames my dad for what happened," he said quietly. "That if it hadn't been for him, if he and my mom had never met, she'd have come home from that road trip with her friends. She'd never have been on that highway. She'd still be alive."

Yes, Gray could see a grieving parent thinking like that—she _had_ seen grieving parents think like that. But this time it was Edward who suffered for it. She covered his hand with hers but said nothing.

"My dad took me down to see her a couple times when I was younger, I remember. But. . . ."

He cleared his throat.

"What about your father's parents?" he asked. "Are they alive?"

Gray shook her head. "I never met them. My father's mother died before I was born. My grandfather lived in England, and Papa and he hadn't spoken for several years before he died."

"What happened?" Edward asked.

"I don't know. It was never discussed, or at least, not in front of me. I was thirteen when he died. I only remember being excited at getting to travel to Europe but feeling very put out at being made to go into full mourning because it would take all the fun out of it."

The moment the words were out of her mouth, Gray knew she'd slipped badly again, but there was no way to pull them back.

"What?" Edward asked with a laugh.

"Nothing." She shook her head and hoped Edward would let it drop. "It doesn't matter."

"I, um, I thought maybe we could go out to First Beach one day. Pick a sunny day and just hang out," he said, willingly changing the subject but unknowingly steering it into even more mine-strewn terrain.

 _First Beach. Sunny day._

Inside Gray's head, Edward's voice was like waves pounding the side of a cliff, relentless and punishing. First Beach was on Quileute land. A place she could never go with him, a condition under which she couldn't go anywhere with him.

"Surfing's good in the spring. I don't know if you surf?" he asked. "We could take boards out, if you do. If not, we could just walk along the beach. Have a picnic, build a fire and watch the sunset. And there's whale watching, and sometimes you can see bald eagles."

His voice, which had started out so full of enthusiasm, so full of excitement, had dimmed into something full of self-consciousness and doubt as her shoulders had dropped, and he slipped his hand from between hers. If Gray's eyes were capable of producing tears, her vision would be blurred with them.

Edward stammered, "It was just an idea. We don't, I mean, if you don't want—"

"I would go anywhere at any time with you, if I could."

Slowly, like watching the sun rise over the horizon at the breaking of a new dawn, Edward's face lit up.

"But, I can't. I'm not . . . There are things I can't do," _places I can't go, times I can't go anywhere_ ,Gray added silently to herself, "no matter how dearly I might want to."

"I don't understand."

Gray couldn't look at Edward. She wrapped her arms around herself, her hands running up and down her upper arms. Without his hand in hers, she felt utterly bereft—stripped bare, exposed and vulnerable like she never had before.

"Do you remember, when we met by the lake, my saying that we didn't really mind the clouds?"

"Yeah."

"That was something of an understatement. The prevalent cloud cover was the reason we chose to move to Forks."

"You moved to Forks because of the clouds?"

"We can't go outside in the sunlight." Gray had spoken so softly, she didn't think Edward had heard. Only marginally louder, she repeated herself.

"I don't understand."

Gray squeezed her eyes shut. Her arms tightened around herself, her hands gripping her arms like a vice.

After what felt like an eternity, Edward asked, "Do you mean, like, what's it called. . .?"

"Photosensitivity," she answered in a meek, timid voice she'd never spoken in before. She curled in on herself. It was essentially the truth. She wasn't lying to Edward, not exactly. But she was deliberately misleading him, and she hated herself for it. Her skin's reaction to sunlight could be referred to as photosensitivity, but not in the way he would naturally think.

"Oh, God, Grace." Edward took her in her arms and held her tightly to his chest, one hand cupped against the back of her head. The relief of being back in his arms was so great, Gray sagged against him. "I'm so sorry." He kissed the top of her head, and whispered into her hair, "I had no idea. Clouds, though, it's safe for you to go outside when there are clouds? They, what, screen the sun enough to protect you?"

She nodded.

"Then we'll just go when it's cloudy." He stroked her hair. "I mean, this is Forks. It's not like finding a cloudy day will be tough."

There was still the matter of her being forbidden from setting foot on Quileute land. When they'd set the terms of the treaty with Ephraim Black all those decades ago, the prohibition from stepping on the tribe's land had seemed inconsequential, a drop in the bucket compared to the land available to them for hunting. Now, though. . . .

Just then, as if lured by Edward's having suggested they visit somewhere the treaty banned her from ever going, familiarly murderous thoughts burst into Gray's head like machine gun fire. Irate, threatening, violent, and utterly predictable, the mind of the Quileute three miles away and closing was focused entirely on all the ways he wanted to rip her into shreds. Gray's lips pressed together in a thin line. She did not want to share her time with Edward with anyone, least of all the flea bag.

"Third Beach is supposed to be great, too, isn't it?" she suggested as an alternative, hoping to be able to interest him, although she feared Edward had a special connection to First Beach, it's being where his parents had met. "There's a waterfall straight into the ocean, I think I heard somewhere, and I think, when the tide is right, they say you can walk almost right up to the base."

The muscles in Edward's body tensed, and she lifted her head from his chest. "Edward?"

Looking toward the back of the house, he took two open-mouthed breaths before he spoke. "It's just a really long hike to Third Beach."

It was an easy mile and a quarter or so down a forest path to the beach, then another half of a mile along the beach to the waterfall. They'd walked nearly that far at the Hoh. Not to mention the fact that Edward was a distance runner. Confused by the one-eighty, Gray said nothing. She lay her head back on his chest. Perhaps he had some bad association to the place?

The thoughts of the mongrel were drawing nearer.

Gray sighed. "This is lovely," she said, her fingers tracing up and down his spine, wishing she had all the time in the world to have Edward to herself as she calculated how much longer they had before the unwanted mutt barged in on them. He was flying down the one-oh-one toward Forks, doing considerably more than the posted fifty miles an hour, and weaving in and out of what little traffic there was.

"Yeah."

Gray gave herself until the mongrel was within a mile before she raised her head from Edward's chest. Reluctant though she was to broach the subject, she felt she needed to explain herself, and she had precious little time to do it.

"Edward, I, um . . . Before, when we—" she began to say, but her Edwardian era upbringing had her tripping over her words, and she gestured mutely toward the couch.

"I'm sorry," they blurted out together.

Then, at the same time, they asked, "You're sorry?"

"What could you have to be sorry for?" Edward asked.

Embarrassed and plagued by the memory of words thrown at her over ninety years earlier, Gray hedged the question.

"I went too far," Edward said in a rush. "I'm sorry, Grace. I got carried away, and I went too far, and, God, I'm sorry."

How could he think anything of the kind? "No, not at all. Nothing of the sort. You did nothing wrong."

"You're not mad?"

"Mad? Good Lord, no." Gray ducked her head, and her hair fell into her face. She tucked it behind her ear and looked up at him slant-eyed. "Quite the opposite."

Edward passed his hand over his mouth and let out a shaky little laugh. "Um. Okay, then. That's, um, that's . . . Okay."

"Only okay?"

"Better than okay."

Feeling bold and empowered unlike anything she'd ever felt before, Gray asked, "I've got one ball left to break your friend's high score. May I have a kiss for luck?"

Edward obliged, and they shared a slow, lazy kiss until they were interrupted much too soon by the slamming of a car door.

Upstairs, Edward's father hurried to the window. He'd been expecting the mutt. She hadn't heard that in his thoughts, his mind being only partially audible to her and her own being focused on Edward, but it didn't surprise her.

Striving to appear normal, she pulled the plunger and released the third ball into play.

Before the dog's heavy fist had even landed against the door, Edward's father yanked it open, and the two stood face to face, their thoughts screaming at her for a long moment before he stepped to the side and the dog surged passed him like a warrior charging into battle. Outwardly, Gray kept her face impassive as the stench of dog and testosterone preceded him, but internally she grimaced at the smell. She watched his reflection in the glass at the back of the game as he stood across the room, his eyes boring holes into the back of her head.

"Jake," Edward said. He swallowed and breathed through his mouth. The single syllable was uttered in an anxious voice, and a warning to the dog rumbled deep in Gray's chest as she shifted closer to Edward, better positioning herself to protect him should she need to.

The movement was not missed by either the dog or Edward's father, who himself was growing concerned with the tension and hatred rolling off the dog in waves. In his head, Gray saw as he relived witnessing a friend he'd known all his life explode into a horse-sized wolf, impossibly long teeth bared. Other young Quileute men had grabbed him and shoved him behind themselves, shielding him from the snarling animal, before his friend's mother and sisters pulled him into the house, practically having to drag him after he'd tripped over his own two feet and fallen on his backside, white as a sheet and shaking like a leaf from head to foot.

"Jake," Edward's father said warningly, putting his hand on the front of the boy's shoulder. His thoughts had shifted to Emily Young and her injuries. He was taking note of the distance between his son and the other boy, but he was oblivious to how close he himself was.

Gray let the little silver ball fall between the paddles, and she turned slowly, inching still closer toward Edward as she did.

"You must be Jake." Under her breath, too low for Edward or his father to hear, she said, "Control yourself, you fool."

Edward placed his hand over hers as he introduced her to his friend, and Gray dipped her head in acknowledgment, her eyes never leaving the Quileute's.

"Any friend of Edward's," she said as she turned her hand over, and their fingers slipped together.

 _See that, mongrel? Edward is mine._

The gesture drew the expected reaction from the dog. His mind exploded with redoubled hatred for her. His nostrils flared, and his shoulders and chest heaved.

But Edward's father's reaction was the critical one. All the little touches, the way she looked at Edward, the protective way she hovered close to him . . . Gray met his eyes. They were wide, and they were terrified, but she was every bit as terrified, and it was she who looked away first. He hadn't put two and two together yet, but he'd turned a corner in that direction and admitted to himself she might actually care about his son. It didn't make him feel any better.

How long before he came up with four, and what would she do when he did?

"What are you doing here?" Edward asked his friend in a less than friendly tone.

"Some of the guys thought we'd take the bikes out tomorrow. You in?"

"The bikes?" Edward asked, his unfriendliness turning to surprised panic.

Gray turned her attention to the Quileute boy and the daggers Edward was glaring at him. The motorcycles she'd seen in the boy's head once before came to his mind again, replacing the mountain bikes he'd originally been thinking of, and he gave Edward a hard, warning look.

Edward's father was in the dark about the motorcycles. Well, that was interesting.

"You haven't taken your bike out for a while," Edward's father said, his mind automatically going to the mountain bikes the Quileute boy had meant and eager to support anything that kept his son away from her—maybe even motorcycles, if it came to it. "You should go. Get out with the guys for a while."

"I dunno." Edward fidgeted and scratched his arm. He squinted, and he shook his head. "I don't think. . . ."

Jake and his father prompted Edward to go, but ultimately, he refused, citing his training schedule for the half marathon and not wanting to do that much riding on a rest day. Like the arguments she herself had given her family against immediately changing both Edward and his father, it was a valid reason, but also like her arguments, it was not the real reason, and he had only thought of it the second before he'd given it. Able to hear his thoughts or not, Gray was absolutely certain of that.

"C'mon, man," Jake said, continuing to press.

"Actually, Grace and I were talking about heading out to the beach," Edward said, although they had not talked about tomorrow in particular. "We were just debating which beach." He looked at her and smiled all the way to his eyes, his tone undergoing a complete turnaround from the way he spoke to his friend. "I said First Beach."

"And I suggested Third," Gray said, ignoring the expected explosion inside the dog's head.

"Can I talk to you a minute," the dog said to Edward through clenched teeth. "Alone."

If ever there was an atmosphere that could truly be said was able to be cut with a knife, the silence that dragged out after the Quileute spoke would be just the one. Edward stared at his friend long and hard before his eyes flickered toward his father, then back to hers. He squeezed her hand. "I'll be right back." Without a word to his friend, Edward crossed the room and led him outside.

Helplessly, Gray watched him go. "Can he be trusted to control himself?" she asked as the door closed, the words slipping out as she struggled to not follow them. The need to run to Edward, to throw herself between him and the Quileute was so intense, the muscles in her legs burned, and her arms twitched at her sides, desperate to reach out for him.

"It's not Jacob I don't trust."

"Isn't it?" She turned cold, accusing eyes on him, having seen the reverse of his words in his mind.

He flinched, and Gray regretted her words. He loved Edward, too, and he'd loved him first.

Outside, the mongrel asked why Edward hadn't picked up when he'd called—Gray'd been right, the call Edward ignored had been him.

"I was alone with a beautiful, amazing girl, and you think I'd rather talk to you?"

At hearing Edward call her beautiful, a smile fought to break out on Gray's lips, and she rubbed her finger across her upper lip to hide it.

By contrast, the dog's head was filled with so many expletives, so many oaths and condemnations, they trampled each other, fighting to be the first one voiced, and he was left spluttering, effectively speechless.

"Why can't you just leave him alone?" Edward's father asked. Just for a moment, like a mask of bravado he'd been wearing had slipped, all the worry and stress he'd been under was on full display for the brief second or two it took to right it.

"Because he makes me happy. And because I believe I make him happy as well."

His father scoffed, and she looked away toward the front of the house, worrying her lip between her teeth and wringing her hands.

"What are they saying?" he asked, his words rushing out. It had cost him something to ask her for information, but his need to know what was going on with his son outweighed his natural resistance to turn to her for anything.

Gray gestured carelessly with her hands. "She's not what you think, blah, blah, blah. She's not what she seems, blah, blah, blah, blah. You should listen to me, blah, blah, blah." Giving credit where it was due, she admitted, "He doesn't make a terribly persuasive argument, but I do have to admit, young Mr. Black has a better grip on his self-control than I'd expected of him." That was good, because had he endangered Edward, he would not have lived to see tomorrow.

Tanya appeared in Edward's father's mind, circling him and looking him up and down. Gray cringed. She'd been exactly right in the impression her cousin had given. Even now, Gray could detect the changes in his physiology. His pupils had dilated. His respiration and heart rate had increased. She could smell the change in his scent from the chemicals flooding into his blood stream. His awareness of his surroundings—his awareness of her—had increased. With everything he'd learned from his training as a police officer and his experience as a hunter, he studied her.

She softened her posture and put her hands behind her as she leaned back against the couch.

"My family told me of their meetings with you earlier. I apologize if they unsettled you. They're curious, and not a little unsettled themselves. They meant no harm." She waited. The stories his friends on the reservation had told him about her kind ran through his head, alternating with his own interactions with Carlisle and Tanya, and herself, and she gave him time to draw his own conclusions from the comparison. She was encouraged that he was even doing that much. "You should know, you impressed them a great deal."

"Super."

Grinning at his sarcasm, Gray went on to say, "Tanya in particular. In fact, after meeting you, she did something she's never done before." She pushed off from the couch and retrieved the plate of cookies Tanya had made. "She baked."

"What?"

Gray removed the plastic covering the plate and set them down.

"I'm afraid she may've come across as rather, well, predatory, this afternoon."

"You think?"

Gray smiled widely. "Do you have any idea just how big of an anomaly you are, Chief Swan?"

He folded his arms; his jaw clenched. From his thoughts, Gray learned that he thought she was making fun of him.

"You argued with her. Men don't typically argue with Tanya."

"No?" he asked acerbically. "What do they do?"

"Mostly, they fall at her feet, to be perfectly honest," she said. "Tanya is something of a _femme fatale._ "

He'd had a retort planned in his head, but it died there.

"What they don't usually do is interest her for very long, and what they've certainly never done before is inspire her to bake for them." Gray crinkled her nose. "The whole house smells like a bakery now. My sister is not happy about that." She shrugged. "But then, Rosalie is never really happy about anything." Feeling guilty, she added softly, "My sister has suffered a great deal."

Gray studied him.

"It surprises you that we think of each other in familial terms."

Edward's father set his jaw, and turned his head away, his eyes on the front door. Apart from one stray thread, his thoughts were solely on his son. That one stray thread was of Tanya.

" _What surprises you more, I wonder—that you could be a threat to us, or that we are capable of loving?"_

" _Both."_

"They're discussing baseball," Gray said. When Edward's father looked at her, she tipped her head toward the front of the house. "Edward and his friend. Don't worry. I've been keeping an ear out. They're having a very stilted, strained conversation. Jacob seems to have decided on a strategical, temporary cease fire until he can come up with a better argument against Edward's spending time with me than 'Because I said so.' I expect they'll be coming back inside soon."

He exhaled heavily through his nose and looked away from her.

"I'm not ashamed of what I am, Chief Swan," Gray said. "I'm sorry if you think I should be. I know what others of my kind have done, but that is not me. I am only responsible for my own actions, and I give you my word on my parents' graves, I have never harmed an innocent human being. As a police officer, you are more aware than most what man is capable of. You would not like to be held accountable for the actions of the worst of your kind."

Tanya's words from earlier that day coming back to him for a second time, and Edward's father's eyes immediately snapped to hers, then dropped to her shoulder and her neck.

" _Did your four-legged friends tell you her shoulder was shattered? That she was nearly killed?_

" _He bit her. Twice. On the neck. He could've ended her life right then and there. Gray willingly risked her life because two like James and Victoria were too close to Forks. She knew first-hand the depravity they were capable of—they were the worst of our kind."_

He swallowed and looked away.

Gray did the same. Tanya's words gave too much away.

Finally, Edward wrapped his hand around the doorknob.

"They're coming back inside," Gray said gratefully, her feet carrying her toward the door before he'd even stepped back in the house.

Edward came inside first, with the dog hot on his heels, and she met him at the bottom of the stairs.

It seemed a power struggle had broken out on the reservation over how to proceed, and that struggle dominated Jacob Black's thoughts as he glared at her over Edward's shoulder. There were two camps, headed by the Alpha and Beta—Jacob—respectively. Jacob wanted Edward brought onto the reservation and told the full truth. Sam—the Alpha—refused. The safety of the pack, of the entire tribe, was his responsibility, and he did not want to risk either by a deliberate violation of the treaty. That it had already been breached once, by Jacob's own father, had endangered the tribe badly enough, he'd said, and after her actions in the woods, he feared the weakened position they would be in when her family demanded concessions from them, which he fully expected to happen. He was only surprised it hadn't happened yet, and he greatly feared what it would be when it did. That Edward's father knew the truth would have to be enough. It would have to be up to him to keep his son away from her.

While it was dividing the pack, with some agreeing with Sam and some with Jacob, there was no true debate. Sam was the Alpha, and his word was law. However, Jacob was directly below him in the pack's hierarchy, and she knew nothing about how that order was established. For all she knew, all it might take for the balance of power to shift was for Jacob to garner more support than Sam, and she didn't know how close that was to happening.

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Hope you liked the chapter! Drop me a review and let me know what you thought. Hope to see you back in two week!


	14. Chapter 14

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!_

This story is set in 2012.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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 _Hello all!_

 _Surprise!_

 _Surprise bonus chapter to celebrate_ Stepping from Shadows _being nominated in three categories in the Twific Fandom Awards!_

Stepping from Shadows _has been nominated in the_ _Favorite Drop Everything Fic, Favorite Out of This World Fic, and Favorite Undiscovered Gem Fic categories._

 _Voting is open at twificfandomawards . blogspot p/vote . html from 2/11-17/18._

 _I was also fortunate enough to receive nominations for my first fic ever,_ I remain, Yours _in the Favorite All Time Fic, Favorite Boomerang Fic, and Favorite Out of This World Fic, and also for Favorite Veteran Author._

 _I hope you'll go and vote!_

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Chapter 14

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Edward cursed the river-like bands of blue that snaked through the clouds. They hadn't been calling for sun, and if it stayed like this, Grace and his plans for the beach weren't happening. As he looked up at the sky, all he could think about was Grace, unable to go outside in the sunlight, locked inside like a prisoner. How awful, to have to live your life constantly with one eye on the sky. What everyone else looked forward to, you lived in fear of.

His eyebrows knitting together, he looked at the window. There was a movie he remembered seeing years ago with two children who were photosensitive. The windows had to be kept covered with heavy curtains at all times, and the mother flipped out when they all disappeared. Grace's house had floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the entire width of the rooms they'd hung out in, and there hadn't been any curtains or blinds or anything covering them. There had to be some kind of film or coating on the glass, he supposed.

"You seeing that girl today?"

He turned. His father was dressed in his uniform, ready to head out. He didn't look up as he filled his travel mug, but Edward could see from his profile that he hadn't shaved.

"She has a name," he said, muttering under his breath as he turned back to the window.

His father exhaled. He'd sounded so tired, Edward's reflex was to turn back, but his temper kept him still.

"Look, I get it," his father said. "Okay? I get it. I was young once too, you know. A beautiful girl breezes into town and knocks you off your feet, and nothing anyone says makes a damn bit of difference because she just looks at you and . . . And you don't know which way is up anymore, but you just know there will never be another girl like her."

Edward thawed. Yeah, it was exactly like that.

"Was that what it was like for you and Mom?"

His father studied the back of a chair, silent. Edward regretted asking.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was just like that."

"Dad, Grace is . . . She doesn't just seem like no other girl. She _is_ like no other girl." Art, music, mythology, Edward could've gone on all day talking about how amazing Grace was. Jesus—even _trig_. "But she's not strong." To just what extent her health had been compromised, apart from her photosensitivity, Edward didn't know. She looked so tired sometimes, so worn out. And the memory of her hand over her heart as she said she couldn't pass a simple sports physical wouldn't leave his head. "I just, I want to make everything in her world right. I want—I want to stand between her and the world. I want to fight off anything that could ever hurt her." Even if meant standing between her and his father and Jake.

"Edward, there is a lot more in the world than you know."

"Isn't that how you felt about Mom?"

His father grunted. "Yeah, and look how that turned out."

Edward had more than he'd wanted to say, but he forgot what it was.

"You and Mom were great together."

The way his father looked at him, Edward felt like he'd fallen through thin ice and the shock of the frigid water had ripped the air from his lungs.

"Dad? You and Mom, you were happy."

When rather than say yes, of course they'd been happy, his father couldn't meet his eyes, a painfully strong case of pins and needles ran from Edward's head to his feet.

"Weren't you?"

"You were so young. You don't remember all the fighting."

His parents fought. Okay. All married couples fought. That didn't mean they weren't happy.

His father ran a hand over his face, and Edward realized he'd spoken out loud. "Toward the end, all we did was fight."

Edward leaned back against the counter top. He felt like a pillar of his world had vanished. He'd always believed his parents had been the perfect couple.

"You and Mom were fighting all the time when she died?"

His father seemed to have aged twenty years in the two minutes they'd been talking. The sunlight caught a number gray hairs in the stubble along his jaw Edward had never noticed before.

"Dad?"

His father released a long, slow breath. He looked left, then right, like he was trying to find the answers written on the walls, or trying to find a way out of answering at all.

"We were fighting all the time when she left."

"You mean, like, left to visit Grandma?"

His father shook his head.

Edward blinked twice. Was his father saying his mother . . . had left? She couldn't have left. Moms didn't leave. Fathers sometimes left—not his father, of course. Other fathers. But moms? Moms didn't leave. They just didn't. His hadn't.

She couldn't have.

She was his mom.

Edward pushed off from the counter, his muscles rigid. "You should go to work. You'll be late." He stalked out of the room, passed his father, ignoring him as he called his name. He slammed his bedroom door shut, fell on the bed, and rolled onto his side, ignoring his father as he knocked.

Finally, his father gave up, saying they'd talk when he got home.

Edward stared at the wall, but what he saw was the image of himself as a three-year-old child in red pajamas, peering out the front window, waiting for his mother to come home.

Jumping up, he grabbed his phone. He hadn't wanted to talk to his father, but he needed to talk to someone. Jake, his best friend for as long as he could remember, never entered his head.

As if she knew he needed her, the phone rang before he touched it.

"Grace—"

"Hey, Edward," croaked a rough, gravely, and male voice.

 _Who the_ — He looked at the name on the screen, and with a groan, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Resigned, he said, "Tyler? Man, you sound like shit."

"Yeah, thanks. Hey listen, I'm sorry to ask so late, but think you could cover for me today?" A loud sneeze followed the question.

Mentally, Edward swore. The last thing in the world he wanted was to go in to work that day. It was on the tip of his tongue to pass, but he hesitated. He went to the window to look out, as if the clouds might've closed off all the blue in the few minutes since he'd last looked. They hadn't, of course. Sighing in resignation, he let the curtain fall shut.

"What time?"

"Ten to four."

It was nine thirty.

As if to say "Please," his friend coughed.

The beach not happening, Edward relented. Maybe by four the sun would be done for the day, and they could do something. Besides, he could use the money. And maybe it would help keep his mind off things.

"Hey, thanks, man. Really."

"My plans fell through anyway."

Tyler laughed, then immediately coughed.

"That why you answered the phone 'Grace?'" he asked when he'd regained his breath. "Who's Grace?"

"Gray Cullen. Her real name is Grace." Feeling territorial, Edward added, "Everyone else calls her Gray."

Tyler whistled, then started coughing again.

"Seriously? Fuck, man—she is hot as hell!"

"You wanna keep your teeth?"

Tyler laughed, and coughed.

"Touchy. What happened? She dump your ass already?"

"Good-bye, Tyler."

Edward hung up the phone and called Grace as he gathered his clothes.

He could hear the smile in her voice when she said hello, and it wrapped around him like a warm blanket, chasing the chill away. He dropped the clothes he'd just picked up and sat on his bed.

"The sun is out," she said.

He heard the apology enter her tone, and he hated it.

"Yeah, I saw that. Actually, one of the guys just called and asked me to fill in for him at work today. He sounds sick as a dog."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. Um, look, I'm working till four, but listen, I want, I really need to see you today. My dad told me something, and I just, I really—Can we get together later, if the sun goes in? Or I—I don't know, maybe I could just call you later or something?"

There was a long pause, heavy and completely silent, before Gray spoke.

"Your father told you something, and you want to talk to me about it?"

"Um, yeah."

"Oh. Okay."

"Great. I, um, I gotta go. I have to go in for ten, and. . . ."

"Of course, Edward."

~.~

* * *

~.~

Gray sat. She didn't move. She didn't breath. She didn't blink.

Her family had fallen silent. Jasper turned off the video game he and Emmett had been playing. Carlisle closed the medical file he'd been reading. Esme set down her sketch pad. Alice, Tanya, Rosalie, Kate—one and all stopped what they'd been doing. No one spoke.

It was like being in the home of a family who'd just learned of the death of a loved one.

Gray jumped to her feet. Scores of CDs stood lined up, neatly arranged, and she grabbed one at random, unable to stand the silence. It made her family's thoughts all the louder, and her own were loud enough.

Edward's father had told him something, and he wanted to talk to her about it.

Unable to stand the noise, she turned the CD off. Then, in a fit of temper, she sent the whole sound system crashing to the ground.

Edward's father had told him something. And he wanted to talk to her about it.

Carlisle pushed his chair back and stood. He was going to come and talk to her.

Unable to face him, she bolted.

~.~

* * *

~.~

Edward arrived at Newton's with a few minutes to spare, and he sat in his truck with his arms draped over the steering wheel. The radio was playing, but it competed with the noise of the engine.

He wasn't listening to it anyway.

All his life, he'd believe his parents had been the perfect couple, had had the perfect marriage.

He turned the engine off and got out.

~.~

* * *

~.~

Gray lay on her back, looking up at the sky. It was late morning. Edward and she might've already been at the beach.

How different a turn the day had taken.

After running from the house, she'd made her way back to the meadow she'd found days ago. Then, she had been on the threshold of a world wondrous beyond measure.

Now. . . .

She heard Carlisle's mind as he made his way toward her, approaching slowly, giving her time to decide whether she wanted his company yet. She'd known he would eventually follow her, and she knew she couldn't avoid him forever, tempted though she might have been at that moment to try. That wondrous world wasn't the world she was destined to walk in, and resentfully, she wished he'd stay away.

"You know," he said as he crossed the meadow, "Had we encountered one of the wolves that day, we'd have killed him without a moment's hesitation."

Irritated with the irrelevant comment, she ignored him.

"You know what we'd all assumed, after . . ." His thoughts filled in the rest of the sentence as he sat beside her.

Yes, Gray thought that, very likely, had her family encountered one of the wolves that day, believing what they had after Alice's vision, they would have killed him, but why bring it up now? Was he trying to make her feel worse?

"Had that happened," he said, "God only knows . . ." He shook his head. "Dangerous thing, assuming."

Gray had turned a cold shoulder on him, but she peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He had the story of a patient presenting with all the symptoms of A, but who really suffered from B, all lined up and ready to show the danger of assuming without all the information, but she pressed her lips together, and he passed.

"You know only that his father told him something," he said instead, "not what that something was."

"What else could it be?" she asked, exasperatedly. Just the night before, she'd seen in Jacob Black's thoughts that there were those on the reservation who wanted Edward told the truth. The current Alpha had forbidden it, but Edward's father was not a Quileute. The Alpha could not forbid him.

"Any number of things. Believe it or not, they did both have lives before our arrival."

 _Any number of things_.

The meadow faded away, and with unforgiving clarity, _any number of things_ swam in front of Gray's eyes in its place. Ninety-four years' worth of overhearing other people's _any number of things_ brutally reminded her of all the _what else_ s Edward's father might have told him. There could be financial trouble, or his father might've gotten bad news from his doctor, or, or any number of things. . . .

 _Edward._

Gray's hands twisted together as possibilities hammered relentlessly at her. To assume what his father had told him had to be related to her, as she had, she had to be the most self-centered being to have ever lived.

"You also know," Carlisle said, standing, "That whatever his father told him— _whatever_ his father told him—he called you to talk about it."

Having to go in for his shift in the hospital, Carlisle left her to contemplate what he'd said.

Above, the clouds continued to grow thicker, but although the tendrils of blue had shrunk, they had not disappeared.

Whatever his father had told him, Edward was upset about it, and Carlisle was right—he'd called her, turned to her. Gray speed back to the house, berating herself all the more savagely with every step. For all she knew, he might've been trying to call her again but she'd put herself out of range.

When she arrived back to the house, she found it empty and, thankfully, no missed calls on her phone. Relieved, but alone and anxious, Gray didn't know what to do with herself. Every tick of every clock in the house jarred her nerves.

On her door, she found a note from Alice saying there'd be a storm by three that afternoon. Three o'clock. Edward would be at his job until four, but she could stop by to say hello. Three o'clock felt days away, but at least it was earlier.

Inside her room, the mess she'd made had been cleared away, but there was a telling empty space where her sound system had been.

Downstairs, she sat at her piano, but all she could muster the concentration to play were the same three notes Edward had played when they'd sat there together— _A, A . . . C, C . . . G, G_ . . . _A, A . . . C, C . . . G, G. . . ._

A grandfather clock Carlisle had given Esme when construction on the house was completed chimed the quarter hour. Gray dropped her head into her hands. Three o'clock felt years away.

~.~

* * *

~.~

As Edward stocked shelves, he watched the clock. It was only noon. How was it possible for time to move so slowly?

He was working that day with Kara Newton, the Newtons' oldest daughter, who was home from college on break. She was okay—quiet, and that suited him just fine. She'd spent the morning with her head bent over a stack of books and her laptop, finishing a paper she'd said was due that night. It left him to do all the work, but he didn't mind. The busier he was, the faster the time would go. In theory, at least.

By twelve thirty, Gray felt as if she had ants crawling under her skin. Outside, the clouds had continued to overtake the blue, but they did so at what seemed to her like a glacial pace, until, finally, she couldn't take it any longer and grabbed her raincoat and car keys.

Minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot of the strip mall housing the True Value, fully aware of the monumental risk she was running through her rash action. However, what was done, was done. She parked in the farthest spot and put her hood up, an uneasy eye on the sky from behind darkly tinted windows. For the moment, the sun was safely concealed, but only for the moment. The largest patch of blue remaining in the sky loomed dead in its path, like an iceberg in front of the Titanic, and like the Titanic, the sun sailed toward it at full steam. In the distance, the dark gray clouds of the storm Alice had foreseen inched closer. Gray slinked back, deeper into the driver's seat.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

Edward poked his head around the corner of the aisle.

"Where the hell— Don't tell me— They're not here. Oh, God, don't tell me I left them at school!" Kara sank down and buried her head in her hands, muttering about failing. Then she sprang up. "Maybe they're at the house," she said. "Edward, I gotta run out for a minute. I don't have the notes I need for my paper. Do you mind being on your own for a few minutes?" Still mumbling to herself, she ran out the door without waiting for an answer.

"Um, o—kay," he said to no one. He moved up to the counter. He'd never worked by himself before. He could handle the register, there was no problem there, but he hoped no one came in to get a hunting or fishing license or to buy a gun. He wouldn't be able to sell it to them. You had to be eighteen.

~.~

* * *

~.~

The sun had come out fifteen minutes ago.

Gray sat behind the wheel, slouched down low, the driver's seat back as far as it would go, her hood up and her head bent down, her hair spilling forward like a curtain around her face. She'd parked as far away from the stores as possible, but the lot wasn't large, and people came and went, passing within a few spots of the car. The few people who noticed her took her for a bored teenager on her phone, if they even gave her that much thought.

A woman herded her four young children into a minivan and drove off.

Alone again, Gray leaned forward to check the sun's progress across the open pocket of sky, and her spirits picked up considerably—it was just touching the outermost edge of the thick clouds, and what scant few slivers of blue remained were harmlessly out its path. . Soon, she could be with—

 _. . . smash it to shit. Grab 'em and get the fuck out of that pisshole of a town before any of them dumb fucks know what hit 'em._

Gray turned narrowed eyes north of town. The thoughts she'd heard had been accompanied by a bark of laughter and were responded to by the agreement of a partner.

 _You sure about the cops?_ the partner asked.

More laughter. _Man, I'm tellin' ya, they got, like, five old men who ain't good for shit in the whole damn place._ He pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans and aimed it at the windshield. _Fucking easy as shit._

The partner was not amused. He swore at the man waiving the gun around to put it away.

 _Better be fucking easy as shit_ , he thought to himself. _I need that fucking money._ He warned the other man not to mess this up.

Gray listened to every thought that passed through either man's head. Sometimes, her mind reading ability protected the humans around them, too. And this time, her mate's father was one of the police officers the man who'd waived the gun had disparaged.

The man was familiar with Forks, possibly lived there previously, she thought. She dialed 911, hoping to hear exactly what house the two were planning to rob, or at least in which part of town it was. The operator came on the line, and Gray told her what she'd overheard—inventing a believable lie as to how she knew it.

The tenor of the man with the gun's thoughts changed. They were still angry, but the mental feel of the anger changed, turned more personal, less mad at the world in general. A couple appeared in his mind, but no one Gray had met. Then a house she had never seen. But the house was replaced by the face of a girl she had seen just a short while ago; it was younger version of the woman who'd run out of the store and jumped in her car.

"It's the Newton's house they're hitting," she told the operator. "I don't know the address, but at least one member of the family is likely to be ho—"

The world came to a grinding halt as a different picture entered the mind of the man with the gun—the inside of a hardware store.

The screen cracked in warning as Gray's fingers tightened around the phone. Venom flooded her mouth.

Seconds passed. The operator spoke to her, asked her questions.

"It's not the house they're after," she told the woman. "It's Newton's True Value they're hitting. South Forks Ave. Get here now."

Her phone fell to the floor, an unrecognizable jumble of mangled plastic and wire.

Rage coursed through her. Two men with guns were headed toward Edward.

The world narrowed to two simple concepts: Protect and Destroy.

Gray could hear Edward shuffling around inside the store.

She could hear the two men. They had entered Forks.

She looked at the sky. The sun seemed to have come to a halt, half concealed, half exposed.

There was no time. She couldn't wait for the sun to be fully ensconced.

She had to go then.

~.~

* * *

~.~

Edward looked up when the bell over the door rang. A familiar blue raincoat rushed in, and he laughed. Grace had her head down and her hood up with the drawstring pulled tight. Her hands were in her pockets, and she held her raincoat wrapped around herself. But what made him laugh was that she had so much hair hanging in front of her face, she could've been Cousin It, only brunette.

"Windy?"

It was only then that he realized the sun was out.

He rushed forward. "Are you crazy!" He wrapped his arm around her, wanting to pull her farther into the store, away from the windows.

She didn't budge an inch. Rather, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the door.

"We have to go," she said. "Now."

Her grip on his wrist hurt, and she pulled on his arm with such force, he stumbled forward, having to catch himself on the edge of the counter.

"Ow! Grace! What the—"

She let go and took a step back, wrapping one hand around the other and drawing them close to her chest.

"I hurt you," she whispered, trembling.

She looked wild, like a cornered animal, her eyes darting from him to the windows.

"What? No," Edward said. Except she had. He'd started to rub his wrist, but he stopped and dropped his arms to his sides. "I'm fine."

"We have to go," she said again, her eyes fixed on the front of the store. "Now, Edward. We have to go. Right now."

"What?" There was a desperation in her voice that shook him. "I can't—I'm the only one here. I can't just—"

She looked genuinely terrified. Edward couldn't imagine—

Grace shook her head. "No. It's too late. It's too late."

She took his wrist again, pulling him away from the door this time. Her grip was looser, but again she pulled him off his feet, and he stumbled.

 _What the hell?_

"Back door. Is there a back way out?"

Edward dug his heels in.

"Grace. No. What on earth—?"

"We have to hide. The bathroom—"

"Why would we—"

His question was cut off by a low growl that reminded Edward of a lion he'd seen in the Woodland Park Zoo as a kid.

 _What the hell was—_

A car pulled up in front of the store and parked in the fire lane. Two men jumped out. Edward was just about to curse a couple of customers coming just at that moment when he realized the two men were wearing ski masks beneath the hoods of their black hoodies, and for one single second, his mind went blank.

Coming back to himself, he grabbed Grace's arm. "Back door," he said, his voice reduced to a hoarse croak.

But it was no good, the men burst in before he could take a step. They not only had ski masks, but guns too, and they waved them in the air.

"Nobody move!"

Edward's grip on Grace's sleeve tightened, and he pulled her against him. His body felt frozen in place. A thousand things raced through his mind. He couldn't think around them.

One of the two men barked at them and pointed toward the cash register. "You two, over there! Open it, and empty it!" He threw a small duffel bag on the counter. "And don't fucking try anything."

The second man ran along the front of the aisles, looking for customers and shouting for no one to do anything stupid.

"Place's empty," he told his partner.

His hands shaking and his fingers too stiff to cooperate, Edward fumbled with the register. Grace laid her hand on his arm and leaned in close, pressing against him. The first man kept his gun trained on them while the second headed for the display case containing the guns. Edward heard him slamming something against the shatter resistant glass, and he flinched at the sound each time.

"Come on, come on!" the first man yelled, giving the gun in his hand two quick jerks to punctuate his command.

Grace's hand move to his back. God, he'd give anything for her not to have been there. Bile burned the back of his throat at the thought of anything happening to her. He finally got the drawer open and shoved what little cash there was in the bag.

The glass of the display case gave way, and the man snatched the bag with the cash. He joined his partner, grabbing guns and ammunition and shoving them in bags.

Edward prayed and pulled Grace close.

 _Just let them take what they want and go._

Her hand slid over his back.

"Shhh," she whispered. "It'll be over soon."

The first man kept shoving things in the bag, but the second man looked at them for the first time.

Grace's hand stopped half way up his back.

"Shit! The kid's father's a fucking cop!"

Edward's blood froze. All he could see were the guns in the men's hands, pointed at them.

Looking at them now as well, the first man swore, his words cut off by approaching sirens.

Equal parts relief and dread warred inside Edward. Those sirens meant the police, but the police meant his father, that the guns that were pointed at them would be pointed at him, too. He thought about his father knocking on his door that morning, trying to talk to him, and his chest ached.

"How the hell—?" the second man asked, panicked and looking at the door.

It only occurred to Edward at that moment that his father had no idea he was working that day. He'd left before Tyler had called, and Edward hadn't texted him. God, when he saw the truck in the lot. . . .

"You've got what you came for," Grace said. "Go."

The first man grabbed one of the bags, keeping his gun trained on them as he headed for the door, but the second man didn't move.

"Come on! You fucking crazy? You wanna be here holding a gun on them when that kid's old man shows up?"

"Easy for you to say! He don't fucking recognize you!"

But he was wrong. Edward didn't recognize him. How could he with the guy's face covered? He had no idea who—

Edward went cold. The voice. He hadn't heard it in a couple of years, not since the speaker had left Forks, but there was no question in his mind who the man holding a gun on them was. Edward's heart sunk. He could identify him, and the guy knew it. He tried to swallow to keep his stomach where it belonged, but his muscles didn't respond. He tried to shield Grace, to move her behind him, but she wouldn't be budged.

"C'mon, man!" the first man shouted. He was jittery, jumpy, his arms twitchy.

The second man's hand started to lower. He looked at the door but didn't move.

 _Oh, God, please . . . ,_ Edward pled. _Go . . . Just go._

The first man said, "The fuck with you!" and ran out with his bag.

Tires screeched, and Edward saw flashing lights through the front window.

Then, everything happened all at once, but in slow motion, every detail magnified.

"Stop right there!" shouted a voice—not his father's.

Gunshots pierced the air, the sound far sharper, far louder than any gunshot Edward had ever heard. With every shot, his heart jumped. People screamed, and more gunshots rang out.

Time went from moving slowly to stopping. Edward remembered a teenage boy in a Seahawks hoodie who went from hanging out at the ball field to hanging out on street corners. All Edward could see were two cold, dark eyes staring at him through the holes in a ski mask, but that was enough to see the very moment the man that teenage boy had become made his decision.

"NO!"

Grace shoved him to the ground at the same second the first of three loud shots ripped through the air. She fell on top of him, and, shaking and with tears burning the backs of his eyes, Edward rolled her onto the ground, curling his body over hers, his arms wrapped around their heads. Footsteps sprinted across the store, and the bell over the door rang as the shooter ran out.

"Don't you fucking move!" his father yelled.

More shots. Edward tried to get up, but Grace's arms were like steel bands around him.

Someone yelled, "Officer down!" and, frantic, Edward fought against her harder, but no matter how much he struggled, she never let go.

"Stay down!"

"That could be my dad!"

"It's not, Edward," she promised. "It's not him."

An engine revved and tires peeled, and Grace let go, and for one brief moment, everything was so quiet Edward could hear himself breathe.

Then the bell over the door rang again.

"EDWARD!"

Edward jumped to his feet and rounded the counter, then came to a dead stop. His father's left arm was outstretched, gun drawn. He looked at Edward only for the briefest of seconds, just long enough for Edward to see the tightness in his face relax, then set hard again as his eyes searched the store. The only times Edward had ever seen his father's gun in his hand while he was in uniform were when he was getting it out or putting it away. He seemed ten feet tall to Edward at that moment, like a super hero in a movie.

Another officer rushed in, his gun drawn as well. Edward's legs felt weak at the sight of it. He never wanted to see another gun again.

Grace joined him, and he clung to her hand.

His father's eyes went wide, then narrowed.

"There is no one else," she said.

Slowly, they lowered and holstered their weapons.

"Ambulance's on the way," said the other officer. "A.P.B.'s out."

His father wrapped him in a fierce, one-armed hug, and Edward buried his face against his shoulder like a small child, breathing hard and holding on tight.

His mouth went dry. He felt the warm, wet, shredded fabric on his father's shoulder at the same time the second officer gasped and swore.

~.~

* * *

~.~

Gray held her breath, though it did very little to help with the fire burning in her throat—she had perfect recollection of the scent filling the air, rich and heady. She could taste it in the back of her mouth without even inhaling.

There was a dull, burning pain in her hand. It barely registered through the pain in her throat, but she used it as an anchor. Edward was safe.

She slipped her injured hand into her pocket and took one short breath. The fire in her throat exploded into an inferno. She grit her teeth and bit back a groan. She was no stranger to this. She had dealt with the almost unbearable need to sate her thirst before and defeated it; she would defeat it now. She was more than her thirst.

She curled her hands into fists and dug her knuckles into her thighs.

The man bleeding in front of her was not just any random human. He was Edward's father.

But there was so much more blood than the small scrape he'd gotten when he fell against that old wheelbarrow . . . She could already taste it.

The bullet, she could see, had passed straight through his shoulder, but she had no idea of the path it had taken or the damage it might have caused. Blood soaked the fabric of his shirt, darkening the already dark navy, but not enough to indicate a major artery had been damaged. It was worrying that he hadn't moved the arm. The human shoulder was a spider's web of bone and nerves. If nothing else, the bullet had taken a good chunk of soft tissue with it. The adrenaline flooding his system had given him a brief reprieve from the pain, but he would be feeling it soon.

A second breath. A third.

The fire raged. It was excruciating, but she could withstand it. She would withstand it.

Outside, one man lay on the ground, critically injured.

Another lay already dead.

She could hear the sirens of the ambulance rushing toward them, but every second counted for the injured man, and twice in her life, she had taken an oath.

"Get him sitting down, and get pressure on that," she said to the second officer, pointing to Edward's father. "Entry and exit wounds."

Another breath, another surge of flame in her throat. Hands on the door, she braced herself for a fraction of a second, not long enough for anyone to notice her hesitation, but enough to center herself.

 _Focus on Edward. Listen to his heart. Listen to him breathe._

Outside the scent was so much stronger, Gray whimpered with need. She bit down with such force her teeth pierced the inside of her lip. She covered her mouth. Edward's scent lingered on her hand, and it helped.

The man who'd shot at her mate lay sprawled on the sidewalk, eyes open and staring upward. Almost none of his blood had been spilled. He'd died of his injuries almost instantly. A far faster and less painful death than the one she'd planned for him.

Feet away, a young officer lay propped against the side of a bullet hole ridden patrol car. The man was conscious, but he was short of breath. His skin was ashen and pale, and she could hear how rapidly his heart was beating. And there was blood. So much blood. . . .

Venom had filled her mouth, and it trickled from the corner of her lips. Fighting her body's natural reaction, she listened to Edward trying to persuade his father to let the other officer take care of his arm, and keeping him in the forefront of her mind, she swallowed, wiped the corner of her mouth on her shoulder, and knelt next to the man.

Minimizing his own injury with one of his men wounded so much more gravely, Edward's father came outside, Edward and the second officer on his heels. His shock at seeing her bent over the heavily bleeding man was so great it stopped him in his tracks and left him unable to verbalize the thoughts raging inside his head.

Of far more importance to Gray was how drastically Edward's breathing and heart rate had accelerated when he saw the man who'd shot at them, dead on the sidewalk. When his father stood behind her, silently seething and watching her every move, Edward stuck to him like glue.

With an abdominal injury like the wounded man's, the amount of visible bleeding could be misleading, but Gray's heightened senses and her access to the injured man's mind gave her far greater diagnostic ability than any human's. The man in front of them was bleeding to death. He was bleeding internally, into his abdominal cavity, and unless they got that bleeding stemmed, he'd be dead on arrival by the time he reached the hospital.

"We need to get the bleeding under control."

"The ambulance is coming," said the officer who'd stayed with him. Not knowing the full extend of the injured man's bleeding, the officer was putting all his faith in the paramedics.

Ignoring him, Gray looked around the parking lot. One officer was taping the area off as another placed evidence markers near bullet casings, their thoughts split unevenly between their task and their wounded brother officer. The officer who'd entered the store after Edward's father was moving between a handful of shell-shocked people, taking witness statements. A woman stood outside the laundromat next to the True Value, her hands shaking, a basket full of neatly folded laundry on the ground near her feet, dropped and forgotten.

"We need towels!" Gray shouted to her.

Startled, the woman hurried forward with clean towels, then backed away even more hurriedly.

Gray pressed the first of the towels to the injured man's lower abdomen and carefully applied pressure.

The mind of the officer beside her was conflicted. He knew the importance of stopping bleeding, but he was afraid applying pressure to the wound could cause further damage. He was about to advocate they wait for the paramedics, but the confidence she demonstrated in her actions lessened his own. Edward's father's mind, on the other hand, was even harder for her to get a fix on than usual, as if the adrenaline coursing through him that blocked the pain from his own gunshot wound also blocked his mind from her. Gray looked up at him to see if his face gave away any of what his mind concealed. He held her gaze for long enough that she wondered if he were trying to see inside her head as she was trying to see inside his.

At length, he said, "You hang in there, Joe. Ambulance is coming."

~.~

* * *

.

Author's notes: Well? Drop me a review and let me know what you thought. Chapter 15 will post in two weeks, back to Friday evening (NYC time). A teaser will post on the Twilight FanFiction Recommendations II, The No Rules Twilight fan fic Recs Club, The Twilight Fan Fiction Finders, Tufano79 Twilight Fanfiction Appreciation...,and Twilight FanFiction Pays it Forward Facebook groups-all of which I believe have also been nominated as Favorite Fic Pimp Site-but reviewers get the teaser first.

I hope you'll go and vote - not only for _Stepping from Shadows_ , but for all of your favorite nominees!

The movie Edward remembers seeing at the beginning of the chapter is "The Others" with Nicole Kidman, 2001.

I don't know if anyone out of the U.S., or under a certain age, would know who (or, rather, what) Cousin It is. But, come to think of it, I don't know what he was either. Cousin It was a character on the Addams Family. He was all hair.

An all-points bulletin (APB) is a broadcast issued from any American or Canadian law enforcement agency to its personnel, or to other law enforcement agencies. It typically contains information about a wanted suspect who is to be arrested or a person of interest, for whom law enforcement officers are to look.


	15. Chapter 15

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

Sorry for the delay with this chapter!

This story is set in 2012.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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Hello all!

I'm thrilled to say that _Stepping from Shadows_ has made it into the second round of voting in the Favorite Undiscovered Gem category in the Twific Fandom Awards! Thank you so much to everyone who voted!

Second round voting is open at twificfandomawards . blogspot p/vote . html from 2/25-3/3.

I hope you'll go and vote!

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Chapter 15

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There were times when there was nothing in the world as loud as silence. Gray could hear the movements of dozens of people, the words of maybe a hundred more, and the thoughts of still another two to three thousand, but Edward was silent, and his silence drowned out all the rest.

They'd given their statements to the police, and now they sat side by side in the emergency room waiting area. They sat so close, their legs were pressed against each other from thigh to foot, but Edward felt miles away from her. Gray nuzzled the side of his foot with hers, but there was no returning gesture. By the time he turned his head toward her, she'd given up hope of his responding. His normally vibrant green eyes looked at her, the life drained out of them.

She choked back a sob.

A young nurse in pink scrubs came up to them, and Edward was on his feet before she'd pronounced the second syllable of his name. Gray was standing beside him in the same second.

"Becca," he said in a breathless gasp, reaching blindly for Gray's hand.

"Hey," the nurse said. "It's okay. He's okay."

Edward's knees buckled, and Gray eased him back into the chair as he ran a shaking hand over his face. Sitting beside him again, she slid her arm around his shoulders, and the nurse knelt in front of him.

"The X-ray showed no broken bones, but Dr. Murchison will be able to tell you more."

Edward nodded in understanding, his hand tightening around hers.

"Can we see him?"

That his father wouldn't want anyone barging in just then, when it should be just the two of them, occurred to Gray, but Edward had pulled her hand close to his chest, and his father would just have to bear her presence. She wasn't going anywhere.

"Soon. Dr. Murchison's stitching him up now. Won't be long."

Edward exhaled and licked his lips.

"How is. . . ?" The tone of his voice supplied the name.

The young woman's eyes fell. "He's still in surgery. Could be a couple hours yet." She touched her forehead, just over her eyebrow, and sniffled. "It's pretty bad, though. He lost a lot of blood. Father Pollock from St. Anne's is with his parents. Got here a little bit ago."

She looked at Gray and took in the bloodstains on the cuffs of her sleeves. The paramedics had passed on to the emergency room staff that a teenage girl they'd never seen before had been applying pressure to the injured officer's abdomen. She also noted the obvious similarities between Carlisle and her.

 _Adopted, they say, but she's gotta be his niece or a cousin or something._

"You're one of Dr. Cullen's?"

Gray nodded.

"Becca's our neighbor," Edward said, introducing them,

"Joe Crowley is my cousin. That he even survived to make it to the operating table is thanks to you. He'd have bled out before he got here had you not got pressure on that wound."

Edward fixed wide eyes on her, a proud smile spreading across his face as he tugged on her hand.

Carlisle was operating on the injured man at that moment, and she'd been following his progress. The bullet had ruptured the large intestine and struck the pelvic bone. Stool had spilled into his abdominal cavity, and shards of splintered bone ricocheted, causing further damage. Even with Carlisle's skill, that the man's life was saved was far from given.

"I'm glad I could help."

Becca told Edward to hang in there, that someone would come get him when the doctor was done sewing up his father's shoulder, and she left them to check on her family and get back to work.

"Feel better?" Gray asked when they were alone again.

Rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, Edward nodded.

"You saved a man's life," he said, awed.

"I didn't do anything much, really."

He held her close and kissed the top of her head.

"Grace, you did something much—really,"

Edward shivered, and reluctantly, Gray leaned back.

"It's cold in here," he said. Then, "I can't believe all that actually happened, you know?"

"I know."

"Do you—You don't think he could actually lose the arm, do you? Not now. I mean, if the—if no bones were hit. . . ."

"I shouldn't think it was very likely."

"But he might not be able to really use it. I mean, not like before. Not a hundred percent."

Gray hated to answer, but it was possible, even likely, there would be some degree of lasting impairment.

"He was from here," Edward said. "The guy. . . ."

"I know." She'd heard it in a dozen hushed voices and in a score of minds since the gunman's mask had been removed. The news was spreading through town like wildfire. Chris Cheney. A local, like she'd thought. Just a normal kid from a normal family who'd gotten into minor trouble and made bad decisions, then got in more serious trouble and made even worse decisions. The end result was the lump of misshapen lead in her pocket. Gray forced her fingers to relax. He was beyond her reach now. She would have to settle for the one who'd gotten away. "I overheard people talking about it when I went to wash my hands. And he said you recognized him."

"I didn't, though. Not at first. Not till he said that. Then, his voice . . . He's got—" Edward rubbed his forehead, "—had a brother. A friend of mine. Ben. He's our age. I've slept over their house. I ate dinner at the same table with him." He gasped and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, God."

Gray's hand curled around the back of his neck, and cold or not, she pulled him close. He leaned against her, but he stared straight ahead.

"I was such a dick to my dad this morning."

Gray listened as Edward recounted to her what his father had told him that morning—that before his mother had died, she'd left. The moment Edward had told her how happy his parents' marriage had been, she'd known the truth would eventually come out, but to have it come out that morning of all mornings. . . .

"He tried to talk to me about it, and I ignored him. _I ignored him_. If he hadn't been going to be okay . . . He's a cop. I know what that means. I've always known what that meant. Not every cop who goes to work comes home again."

Another woman dressed in scrubs came up to them, and Edward jumped to his feet again. When she said they could go back then, he all but ran.

~.~

Gray followed behind, but slowly, dragging her feet. She could hear them, both apologizing to the other for that morning. She felt like a peeping Tom, an outsider listening in where she didn't belong, but she couldn't force herself to stay away. The lump of lead in her pocket was too heavy. Giving Edward and his father at least the semblance of privacy, she lingered outside the curtained off cubicles that served as the examination rooms in the emergency department.

Doing the same, a man stepped out of the cubical, and she recognized Frank Murchison from seeing him in Carlisle's mind. He was a large man, friendly and exuberant, bald on top but with a band of white hair that wrapped around the back of his head and continued uninterrupted down his jaw into a thick beard. Seeing her, he came straight to her, his hand held out and a smile that went from one ear to the other.

"And you must be our young heroine," he said, taking her hand and shaking it warmly. Shock temporarily transformed his features, but the surprise was quickly smoothed away. Already being acquainted with Carlisle, excuses for the feel of her skin were lined up and waiting.

"I didn't do—"

"It's no good downplaying it," he said with a laugh. _Shy_ , he thought as he patted her hand."News travels fast in a town like Forks." That, Gray knew, was true. She was already the topic of more than one conversation; questions and answers were being passed back and forth all throughout the hospital. "It's not many people who could've kept their heads like you did after what you'd just been through." _Cops standing around while she jumped right in and took charge, they say. And at her age_. "If that man survives, it'll be as much thanks to you as to your father."

 _Hear, hear!_ Carlisle agreed as he did his best to stitch together what was left of his patient's large intestine. He was bursting with pride.

People were watching, and, uncomfortable, Gray squirmed. Attention was not something they sought after.

The normal thing—the _human_ thing—would be for her to ask after the injured man, and although she knew the answer as well, if not better, than the man in front of her, she asked.

"He's nowhere near out of the woods, but your father is still operating."

He left unsaid that doctors didn't operate on dead patients and thought to himself how odd it was referring to a man under thirty as the father of a girl in her late teens.

"Carlisle is the best there is," Gray said in perfect honesty.

Over the doctor's shoulder, she saw Edward peek out from his father's cubical. His face looked tense but relaxed when he saw her.

"If you'll excuse me?"

The man stepped aside and walked with her toward Edward's father's bed.

Gray went straight to Edward. She put her hand on the small of his back and stood close. The tip of her nose only inches away from his chest, she inhaled deeply, breathing him in.

 _Oh ho ho!_ Dr. Murchison thought to himself with a chuckle. _Like that already is it? Charlie's boy moved in pretty dang fast, but who could blame him? She is a looker, alright. Charlie doesn't look happy about it, though. That family does give off some kind of weird vibe, but that girl there is the reason Joe Crowley has a fighting chance. Better than a fighting chance, even, if Carlisle really is all his credentials say he is._

The doctor checked the dressing's on Edward's father's arm. He explained to Edward they'd given his father a local anesthetic when they'd stitched him up and asked he if he had any questions.

"He's gonna be okay?"

He slapped Edward's shoulder. "Either your father had somebody looking out for him today, or he is just one lucky S.O.B. The bullet managed to pass straight through and not hit any major blood vessels or bones. We've got him on IV antibiotics to prevent infection, and we'll keep an eye on those sutures to make sure they hold."

Edward asked about long term prospects.

Here, the doctor's upbeat manner dimmed. "The bullet took out a lot of soft tissue. He's got some weakness and a tingling, pins-and-needles feeling in his lower arm and hand, which indicate damage to both sensory and motor nerves." At the widening of Edward's eyes, the doctor hastened to continue. "Now, as I explained to your father, nerve injuries can sometimes recover on their own. We'll get him set up for physical therapy and monitor his progress."

Edward nodded. "Okay. Physical therapy. Okay." His voice sounded like he was more trying to convince himself than show agreement.

"The old arm will be good as new by buck season," Edward's father said with a nod of his own that was full of conviction and that hid the fear inside his head for whether he'd still be able to be a cop.

The thought had been one of the clearest she'd ever heard from him, and Gray wished it had been concealed. Having heard such a private worry, she turned her head away, unable to face the man.

"If it doesn't heal on its own?"

"Then he'll be looking at surgery to repair the damage, but we can cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Can he come home tonight?"

"He's going to have to stay here with us tonight. You can have him back tomorrow."

He'd be back to look in on Edward's father again, the doctor said, but he was anxious to get in to the OR and see how surgery was progressing.

"You'll let me know . . . ," Edward's father said, pushing himself up on his good arm, as if he were going to follow the doctor into the operating theater.

"You'll be the second to know," Dr. Murchison said. Turning to Gray, he added, "I was just telling this young lady here that if it weren't for her, well . . . Have you ever thought about becoming a doctor, Miss Cullen?"

A sensitive spot inside Gray ached.

"I've thought about becoming a great many things, Dr. Murchison."

She kept her eyes averted from Edward's father and studied the shades of blue and green on each of the threads in the curtains dividing the cubicles. He was remembering the things Carlisle had told him—how, as a girl at the time if the First World War, with the whole of society stacked against her, she'd wanted to be a doctor. How her father had seen her sick and known she was dying. He was also remembering hearing her say for them to get pressure on his arm and seeing her bent over his officer, his blood on her hands, and seeing Edward's truck in the parking lot at the strip mall, the inconceivable, abject terror of hearing gunshots ring out inside the store and knowing his son was in there.

"Thanks, Dr. Murchison," Edward said.

"Yeah, thanks, Frank," his father said mechanically.

After the doctor left them, Edward released a long slow breath, then inhaled deeply, as if he hadn't been able to really breath since seeing the gunmen storm into the store. He looked ready to drop, and a bit green around the gills. His father noticed it too.

Thunder rumbled through the sky like an approaching freight train, but it was too distant for human ears.

"Billy and Jacob are on the way. You'd better stay with them tonight."

Edward looked ready to protest.

"I think your father's right," Gray said. The words left a sour taste in her mouth, but as much as she hated the very idea of Edward around those beasts, she was afraid that, staying at their house alone that night, the events of the day would prey upon him. Every creek of the house would be someone with a gun slinking in the shadows. "I'm sure your father would sleep better knowing you were with friends."

Put that way, Edward grudgingly relented.

From the corner of her eyes, Gray saw his father watching her. Her agreement had surprised him.

"I, um . . . men's room," Edward said.

They watched him go, neither speaking for some time.

The silence too uncomfortable to bear, Gray blurted out that Edward had told her about his great grandmother's sister's starting the library, then winced. She'd have done better to remain silent. She pulled her teeth between her lips. The spot where she'd bitten through had healed over, but it was sore. Edward's father's thoughts had become too garbled to be understood, while inside Gray's head her nightmare played out in an unending loop. She slipped her hand into her pocket, and her fingers touched the misshapen piece of lead. Her breath caught in her throat. Her words stuck behind it, then suddenly broke through, rushing out like a rain-swollen river through a breached dam. "He fired three shots." She handed Edward's father the unrecognizable lump of lead as if she couldn't wait to get rid of it. "It happened too fast. He made up his mind to shoot, and he fired . . . It happened so fast." The sounds of the three gunshots went off inside Gray's head, shaking her to her bones. "I couldn't push him out of the way fast enough. I'd have had to hit him too hard. He tried to protect me." Half hysterical, half desperate, she laughed. It was a raw, choking sound that died as abruptly as it had been born. "We hit the ground, and he lay on top of me, to protect me. I knew the shooter had lowered his weapon and sprinted for the door, else I'd never have let him. But he didn't know that."

Edward's father gaped at her, then at the bullet in his hand. It looked like a small piece of clay that had been squeezed inside someone's fist, then allowed to harden like that and painted. His vital signs increased, and he'd gone gone pale. She couldn't hear a syllable of what he was thinking, but she could see in his face that he was struggling to comprehend what she was saying.

He stammered. "You—This—You— _How_. . . ."

Concerned by the sudden spike in the numbers on the monitor at the nurse's station, the nurse who'd come to see Edward with the X-ray results rose to check on his father.

"Hey, Charlie. How's it going?" She put her stethoscope in her ears and the other end against his inner elbow.

He concealed the mangled bullet, closing his hand around it. His skin molded itself to the bullet rather than the other way around.

 _Don't overtax him_ , Carlisle said in warning.

 _Maybe ask Dr. M. for something to calm him down_ , the nurse thought to herself.

"How're you feeling, Charlie?"

"Like I just got shot," he said in a voice like sandpaper.

"The arm hurting?"

"No."

"No? Well, Dr. Murchison's ordered pain meds for you as needed, so don't you go trying to be a hero. Rambo ain't real. When you need it, you ask for it. Got it? They're fixing up a room for you now, so we'll get you moved and settled soon. Not like home, I know, but the bed'll be a little less uncomfortable at least."

She smiled at them both, then left.

Thunder rumbled, louder this time, and, jumpy, Edward's father's eyes snapped to the ceiling. Worried about Edward, Gray looked in the direction he'd gone. Were he not in the men's room, she'd have gone after him—regardless of his being in the men's room, she might go after him still. He was so quiet. Helplessness burned inside her. It should be her comforting him that night, not those mangy fleabags.

From the corner of her eye, she saw that Edward's father, too, had turned his head in the direction he had gone. His gaze fell to the object in his hand, and his lips pressed firmly together as lines formed across his chin and between his eyes. He pressed a closed fist to his mouth, and his shoulders shook, though there was barely a sound. Gray pretended not to notice, and after a moment, he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and cleared his throat.

"You—" He cleared his throat a second time. "You saved my son's life."

"I would never let him be harmed," Gray said, twisting her fingers together and her eyes lowered.

"Thank you," he said in a softer tone of voice than he'd ever used toward her before.

Gray tipped her head. Then, she turned toward the north of town. Exasperated, she mumbled, "Oh, for the love of all that is holy. . . ."

Edward's father's shoulders shifted, and she saw the Blacks' faces appear in his mind.

They were about to receive visitors, but not who he was thinking.

"Esme is coming," she said. "And, well, Tanya is with her."

At the mention of Tanya's name, Edward's father's demeanor changed. He got fidgety, and a pink tinge spread up his neck. Tanya's open perusal of him filled his thoughts, but it had been given new meaning by Gray's _femme fatale_ comment.

"Sir, if you . . ." Tanya's thoughts gave Gray pause. They were in her native ancient Slovak. "Tanya is very fond of you, but she will not impose herself on you. If you wish for her to stay away, you only need to say so. She will respect your wishes."

His thoughts had gone mostly silent again, but before his radio silence, Gray caught a split second of the image of a woman she supposed was Edward's mother walking out the door.

"I should go meet them," Gray said. "Appearances need to be kept up. The worried family routine. People are already wondering at Carlisle's ability to focus on performing surgery so soon after what happened." She hesitated, her hand on the curtain, waiting for him to tell her to keep Tanya away from him.

"I don't want you going after him."

Gray turned. Edward's father leaned forward in his bed. Her eyes narrowed.

"You know what I'm talking about," he said. "We got a partial plate and a good description of the car, and we got every cop in the Pacific Northwest looking for the bastard. We'll get him. You keep out of it."

Gray's nostrils flared.

"I can find him faster than you."

He leaned farther forward and met her glare with one of his own every bit as steady as hers. Low and serious, he said, "You want me to believe you're different from the things that nearly destroyed the Quileute? Ephraim Black let you stay and offered you a treaty because he believed you were different. If that's true, then you stay out of it and leave him to us."

"Agreed to let us stay?" Gray scoffed. "Ephraim Black agreed to the treaty that Carlisle offered them because he could count."

Edward's father didn't miss a beat. "Regardless, you agreed to it, and I expect you to honor it."

"Like they have?"

The only answer she received was a stony, steadfast silence.

Gray's jaw clenched, but, again, it was she who looked away first.

"Fine. I will find him and alert the authorities."

Edward's father relaxed back in his bed.

Gray steamed.

"Edward splashed water on his face a moment ago," she said. "He's quiet again, but I expect he will return soon." The thoughts of the Blacks were audible to her now as well. "And your friends will be here soon. As will my family. I should step out to the waiting room to meet them."

She shoved the curtain aside with enough force that the nurse at the desk across the room jumped. Gray ground her teeth, but the sound of footsteps approaching the men's room door forced her to get hold of herself. She stopped on a dime and pressed her hand to her forehead, feigning a headache. Squinting against the bright, florescent lights, she turned on the charm and turned to the nurse, forcing one corner of her mouth to twitch upward.

"I do apologize. Please, forgive me. I get terrible headaches. I'm afraid they make me something of a bear, and after a day like today . . ."

The nurse melted. What could be more normal?

She'd taken two steps when the hinges on the men's room door squeaked, and Edward stepped out. His hair looked wild, as if he'd been tugging on fistfuls of it, and the color was darker in spots where wet streaks ran through it.

He cupped his hands around her jaw, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. She pressed her forehead to his chest and felt the strong, reassuring beating of his heart. His arms wrapped around her, and his breath spread through her hair.

"Esme is almost here. I should go meet her."

"Yeah. God, she must be. . . ."

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. I'm okay. For a minute, thought I was going to lose my lunch. Or breakfast. Whatever. But I'm good. Whole. You know? We're whole."

"You were so brave."

Edward made a self-disparaging sound of disagreement. "I was scared shitless."

"One does not preclude the other."

Becca was watching them. She thought they looked cute.

"Next time we say we're going to the beach, we are going to the beach," Gray said. "I don't care what the weather is. If the sun is blazing, I'll wear a turtle neck and gloves. And a I'll get a big ole hat with an enormous brim. I'll find an old parasol in an antique shop somewhere, if I have to."

"And if it's pouring buckets, we'll wear ponchos," Edward said.

"And if it snows—"

"We'll get fucking shovels."

Gray indulged in the warmth of his arms a few moments longer before unwillingly taking a step backward.

"Esme'll be here any minute. I should go."

He nodded. "Yeah. I, um, I'm gonna hang out here for a bit."

"Of course."

"Um, do you, do you think he's gonna be okay?" he asked quietly. "I mean, I don't mean just his arm."

"I understand what you mean. I think he is going to need a lot of support."

"Can I—Okay if I call you later?"

She touched his face. His father wasn't the only one who was going to need a lot of support.

"You need never ask."

~.~

Edward kissed the palm of Grace's hand, and she went out to the waiting room. He returned to his father's bedside and pulled over a chair. He felt like his bones and muscles had turned to dust. He didn't have the strength left to stay on his feet.

Neither spoke, and Edward worried what his father was thinking about. He'd killed a man that afternoon, and not just any man, but someone he'd seen grow up. Someone whose parents' he himself had grown up with. In Forks, everyone knew everyone. Hell, half the town was related to the other half. Justifiable as what he'd done had been, how did someone cope after something like that?

He leaned back in the chair and ran his hands up and down his thighs. His shoulder and wrist hurt from when he and Grace had dived to the floor. He was dead ass tired, and he closed his eyes, but behind his eyelids events replayed themselves, and he could see every detail magnified, from the gleam of the fluorescent lights on the barrel of the gun to the three fingers wrapped around the grip and the one curling toward the trigger. Was his father reliving it over and over in his head too? God, Edward hoped not. He was just thinking he might never close his eyes again when he heard Becca ask someone if she could help them. There was no response, but there had been a tremor in Becca's voice that caught his attention and had him wondering whether he should go see what was up when the curtain was pushed aside, and a strikingly beautiful woman stepped into the gap.

The woman didn't speak. Her face looked blank. She looked lost, and possibly drunk, Edward thought. She stood lopsided, off balanced. He thought to himself he should say something, but his throat didn't cooperate, and his skin prickled.

"The surgery is going well," she said in a monotone voice. "Carlisle is hopeful the patient will make a full recovery. He thought you'd like to know. I thought you'd like to know."

A social worker, Edward decided. Maybe someone called in from over from Port Angeles or Sequim, but if so, she'd gotten there pretty damn fast. He looked between the woman and his father. She was looking toward his father, but not at him, Edward didn't think. It was weird, but if he had to guess, he'd have said she was looking at the monitor next to his father's hospital bed. His father wasn't looking at her either, but at the curtain about a foot or two to her left.

His father nodded. "Good to hear."

It was a hell of a lot better than just _Good to hear_ , Edward thought. "That's great," he said, still looking between his father and the woman. The tips of his father's ears had gone pink.

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Thanks for reading! I hope you'll drop me a review and let me know what you think, and if you like the story, I hope you'll go to twificfandomawards and vote! And thank you again to everyone who voted in the first round!

.

In this chapter, Gray paraphrases Jo March from Louisa May Alcott's _Little Women._ The actual quote is "I should have been a great many things, Mr. Mayor" It's said in response to a man's telling her she should have been a lawyer after she argues why women should be allowed to vote. Really, it was an unintentionally cruel comment for the guy to make. The book is set in the 1860's.

Arabella Mansfield became the first female lawyer in the United States in 1869, admitted to the Iowa bar; she made her career as a college educator and administrator.

Wikipedia wiki/Arabella_Mansfield

Lelia J. Robinson became the first woman to be admitted to the bar and practice in the courts of Massachusetts in 1882.

wikipedia wiki/Lelia_J._Robinson


	16. Chapter 16

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

This story is set in 2012.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years_ \- of support and encouragement and to Patricia for all her help and advice.

 _ _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners.__

 _ **Warning – this chapter contains a discussion that might upset some people. There isn't really much detail, but if you want more info on that, you can skip down to the author's notes at the end of the chapter.**_

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Chapter 16

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Edward dropped the gym bag of clothes he'd taken to Jake's and collapsed onto his bed. God, he was glad to be home. He wanted to kick his shoes off, pull the blanket over his head, and not move again for a week.

He pressed his knuckles to his eyes, and sharp pain throbbed in his wrist. When he'd woken up that morning, his arm had hurt, and a large bruise had blossomed all the way up his triceps from when Grace and he had hit the ground. But his wrist . . . Edward sat up and pushed his sleeve up. Forming around his wrist was a livid purple bruise in the shape of a handprint.

~.~

Charlie sat at the kitchen table, trying to process the last twenty-four hours. The inside of his head felt like the aftermath footage of a natural disaster. There was nothing left of the sold reality he'd known until yesterday. Today, nothing remained but steps leading to a bare cement slab.

His son had been shot at.

He passed a shaking hand over bone dry lips.

One of his officer's had been hit.

And he, Charlie, had shot and killed a man.

Fuck, he needed a beer.

Right arm in a sling, he cracked one open left-handed and drained it, barely coming up for air.

Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he stared at a take-out menu on the front of the refrigerator. Frank Murchison credited their new doctor in large part for Joe making it, said he'd never seen such a skilled surgeon. But more, he credited that girl with him even making it to the hospital. Charlie didn't know what to think. Nothing he was seeing with his own eyes matched up with what he'd been told, and he didn't know what to trust.

Fuck, he needed another beer.

He felt so damned helpless—useless. He should be out there with his officers, tracking down the bastard who'd gotten away. Administrative leave. _Paid_ administrative leave, because that made being _fucking_ _grounded_ okay. He was prohibited from leaving his house from eight in the morning till five in the afternoon without getting fucking permission. _It's standard procedure, Charlie. You know that_. They'd taken his service weapon. The Law Enforcement Association had assigned him a lawyer. He'd been interviewed. He'd made a formal statement and signed it. They'd taken his blood for a toxicology test. Did anyone care what shit Chris Cheney'd had in his blood when the fucking little shit shot at Edward? Charlie rubbed his eyes, and raised the can. Not that he could do shit with one useless arm anyway. That damned pins and needles feeling was going to drive him fucking crazy. Nerve injuries could heal on their own, Frank had said. What that also said was that they could _not_ heal on their own. Surgery. Who'd perform it? Would he have a choice? Charlie thought he'd lose his mind if he had to let that man operate on him. Would it even work? Was paid administrative leave going to turn into disability? Charlie would turn forty that year. If he had to stop working at his age and go on disability, he would lose his mind, no doubt about it.

He finished the second beer, and the doorbell rang.

Charlie sighed. He scratched his eyebrow and braced himself before getting up. When he stepped out of the kitchen, he nearly collided with Edward, coming from his room.

Edward started, and his eyes widened as he took a step back. Charlie guessed he smelled the beer on his breath.

"Shoulder okay?" Edward asked, tugging on his sleeve.

"Super. The hole in it is the problem."

Edward tried to smile but failed. "I'll get it," he said.

Who was bringing what this time? Charlie wondered as he retook his seat. They already had four casserole dishes in the fridge from friends on the rez.

When he heard the voice that greeted Edward, he was on his feet like his pants were on fire. Michelle Herrera, the only woman in the department, stood at the door, wearing civilian clothes and holding a casserole dish.

"Hey, boss." With a wink, she held up the dish as she came into the house. "Social call. Mom sends her love. And enchiladas." She set the dish down on a burner on the stove and turned to him. "They got him."

Charlie heard Edward inhale.

"Call came in to 911 just after seven. An anonymous female caller said she knew where the guy who shot that cop out in Forks was and gave them an address in Seattle, then hung up."

Fuck, yes! Charlie couldn't believe it, but that girl had come through, alright— _anonymous female caller_.

"Where? Where is he?"

"In a drawer at the King County medical examiner's office."

"He's dead?" Charlie asked in disbelief. That disbelief quickly turned to rage, and he saw red. His suspect—who he'd wanted to see tried and brought to justice—was dead. He couldn't put the anger inside him into words, but inside his head, he swore up a storm. Dammit to hell, he never should've trusted—

"OD'd," Michelle said.

"They sure about that?" Crime scenes had been faked before. He'd bet that girl and the all rest of them were experts at it, had it down to a science. Jesus Christ, he never should've trusted—

Michelle nodded. If she thought his skepticism odd, she didn't show it.

"Heroin. Laced with fentanyl, they think. Needle was still in the guy's arm."

As quickly as the rage had boiled up inside Charlie, it dissipated, leaving an empty cavity inside him at risk of imminent collapse. He tried to hold on to the anger to prop himself up—that girl could've gotten the stuff and set the bastard up to OD—but he was grasping at straws and he knew it.

Edward sat down, still tugging at the end of his sleeve. He looked up at Michelle. "So, that's it, then? It's over?"

"Yes and no. I's need to be dotted and t's need to be crossed, but it's as air tight as can be. The deceased has been positively ID'd. It wasn't his first overdose. Records show paramedics responded to a call a couple months ago and brought the guy back with naloxone. The car's been found—another anonymous female caller. Our man didn't seem to have a way with the ladies. He got hit, by the way. In the ass. Bullet just grazed him, but he left a very convenient blood stain on the driver's seat, and the bullet lodged itself in the dash board. It's about as cut-and-dry as could be."

Charlie agreed. As cut-and-dry as anything he'd ever seen. Remarkably so. As if it had all been arranged, but dammit, he couldn't see how that girl could've pulled it all together so cleanly. No, it had to be what the evidence showed.

"But, I mean, there won't be a trial or anything now?" Edward asked. "I mean, we won't, Grace and me, we won't have to testify, or anything?"

"No suspect, no trial. You may need to answer some more questions, or, rather, the same questions again, I should say, so the investigation can be closed out. But that'd be it."

Charlie put his hand on his Edward's shoulder and squeezed it, pulling it away sharply when he flinched.

"Just sore from when we fell."

 _When we fell_. More like, from when that girl pushed him out of the line of fire. Charlie shivered. He owed that girl his son's life. Nothing she was, nothing she'd done last night in Seattle, if it turned out she had taken matters into her own hands and staged everything—hell, nothing she'd done _ever—_ mattered a damn compared to that.

Dammit, he supposed he'd have to start using her name.

"Any word on Joe?"

"No change overnight. Serious condition, but stable. He's got a long road ahead of him, but you know, no . . . no bag, or anything like that, thank God. That new doctor we got seems very optimistic. He sure is something." She raised her eyebrows, and her voice changed. "Something to look at, too. Drop dead gorgeous, brilliant surgeon—and happily married." She sighed dramatically.

Charlie felt goosebumps on his spine at her choice of words.

"How're the Cheneys?" Edward asked. "I thought about calling Ben, but. . . ."

"Pastor Webber's been with them." In a whisper, she added, "Remains'll be cremated."

Yeah, that was for the best, Charlie thought. Joe came from a big family, and there was no telling what hot tempers might do to the boy's grave after a few beers. His poor parents didn't need that. Tired, Charlie ran a hand over his face. Damn, this was going to test their town something fierce.

"He was a couple years behind me at school," Michelle said sadly. "Would've graduated with my brother, David. They used to be friends. Well, he made his decisions. But it's his poor family who'll have to live with them." She pushed away from the counter and said she'd get going and let them have some peace and quiet.

"Thanks, Michelle," Charlie said from the heart as he stood to walk her to the door.

"You betcha, boss." She tipped her head toward the casserole dish, pretending that was what the thanks had been for. "Eat'em while they're hot."

When Charlie returned, he stood in the hallway just outside the kitchen door for a moment. Edward was sitting quietly, staring at nothing and absently tugging on his sleeve again. If that girl hadn't been there yesterday . . . Not letting his mind go there, he cleared his throat and entered the room. Edward jumped and whipped his head around.

"You hungry?"

"No," Edward responded, distracted. "Mrs. Littlesea brought this breakfast casserole thing over to Billy's." He laughed, though there was no humor in it. "What's with that, anyway?"

"People want to help. They do what they can."

Charlie looked out the window. The sky looked like a slab of grey marble. It didn't look like they'd be seeing the sun that day. Had that girl gotten back from Seattle yet? How long until she showed up? 'Cuz he knew damn well she would.

And what the hell was he going to say to her when she did? 'Thank you' was a pretty pathetic show of gratitude for stopping a bullet fired at your son.

Edward jumped to his feet.

"I'm gonna go for a run."

"Yeah, okay," Charlie said. It would do his son good, get out of the house and burn off the nervous energy. "Edward," he called as his son stepped out of the room. When he turned back, Charlie looked at him. Oh, God, had that girl not been there yesterday . . . He didn't want to even think about it, but he couldn't stop.

"Yeah?"

Charlie pulled himself together. "I know I don't need to say it, but nothing Michelle said leaves this house."

Edward tugged on his sleeve.

The boy was a bundle of nerves, Charlie thought. To get out in the open air on a good, long run was just what he needed.

"What about Grace? Can I tell her? I mean, he held a gun on her too."

Charlie nodded. Be telling her something she already knew, but . . . He grabbed another beer, popped it, and moved to the window, thinking about that girl. Pretty ballsy she must've been, wanting to be a doctor a hundred years ago. He'd seen that girl yesterday, looking out of this girl's eyes, heard her speaking with this girl's voice.

Outside, their neighbor was kicking a soccer ball around with his little girl. She'd just turned four. She ran to the ball, but fell when she went to kick it. She cried, and her father picked her up and held her. Charlie doubted very much that a hundred years ago, Gray Cullen's early childhood had been spent running around in the back yard kicking a soccer ball around with her father, or that he'd have been the one to pick her up when she cried.

But, when he'd seen her dying, he had been the one to make the request that had made her what she was now. Could he possibly have known exactly what it was he was asking? Until yesterday, Charlie would've said no way in hell, but now . . . Charlie had to admit, he wasn't so sure. He just didn't know. If there was no other way, what would he choose? It was easy to say unequivocally what you would do in a situation you never believed you'd be in, but when Charlie'd heard those shots inside the store yesterday, knowing Edward was in there . . . When he'd stormed through that door, not knowing what he would find. . . .

Charlie raised the can, but stopped. There were two cans on the kitchen table that he'd already polished off without even tasting them. Resigned, he lifted the can, held it over the sink and poured it out. That done, he put a K-Cup in the Keurig and fixed himself a plate of enchiladas, which he ate standing at the counter while his coffee mug filled. Eating left handed, as he was finding, was more difficult than drinking.

Down the hall, Edward's bedroom door opened. Charlie turned, expecting to see him, but a second door closed, and then came the hum of the treadmill and the steady sound of Edward's running shoes on the belt.

~.~

Edward pushed himself. He wanted to run himself into exhaustion. He wanted the burn in his legs to be the only thing his mind could focus on. He wanted the tunnel vision that a hard run brought. He wanted the relief of forgetting yesterday afternoon for a while, even if it meant it would all come crashing back on him all the harder afterward.

Out the back window he could see the tree line, and he inhaled deeply, imagining the smell of the trees and the dirt, the feel of the breeze, the sound of it blowing through the branches.

He remembered Grace leaping up onto that fallen tree as easily as if she'd merely skipped a step walking up the stairs.

What had she been thinking yesterday, risking going out while the sun was still shining? Something had to have happened for her to do something like that. She'd been distraught when she came to see him. What had happened to upset her so badly?

~.~

The number of casserole dishes in the refrigerator had grown. Edward stood in front of the microwave watching a plate spin around. The microwave stopped, and he took the plate out, hissing when he burned his fingers.

"Not doing anything today?" his father asked.

Edward shook his head. "Jake wanted to get a bunch of the guys together and do something, but . . ." He shrugged. "I don't know."

"You 'n Jacob've been friends a long time."

Edward knew what his father was getting at. It wasn't the same anymore, though. Hadn't been since Jake started spending all his time trailing Sam Uley around like a puppy. At that moment, Edward would've given almost anything to have his best friend back the way he'd used to be.

"I kinda just want to hang out here."

"Talk to Gray Cullen yet?"

Edward looked up from his plate, then turned. His father had used Grace's name.

"She texted earlier that she had something she needed to do with her cousin."

"Her cousin?"

"Yeah. They've got family visiting from up in Alaska. I thought, maybe I'd ask her to come over later. We could just, I don't know, watch a movie or something."

Edward looked at his father. It didn't look like he'd heard a word Edward had just said.

The doorbell rang, and it snapped his father out of his trance.

"We're going to need a bigger refrigerator," Edward said as he wiped his hands on a paper towel.

Rather than another neighbor with another casserole dish, two men stood on the doorstep—one in a suit and one in a sheriff's office uniform. The man in the suit introduced himself as his father's appointed attorney. Edward's stomach fell to his feet, and he gripped the edge of the door.

"What now?" his father asked from the top of the stairs.

"Charlie, how you holding up?"

"Super."

"Reporters been bothering you?"

"There've been a few calls," his father admitted, sounding tired.

There had been? When? Edward hadn't known that.

The men said they needed his father to come down to the station and go over everything again.

"Why?" Edward asked, subconsciously moving to block his father from the two men. "He's already told you what happened. Everyone's already told you what happened. You've got the security video. What more do you want?"

"I know the last thing you want to hear is that it's routine," the attorney said sympathetically, "but it is, and that routine is to protect the innocent from living with a cloud of suspicion over their heads as much as it is to hold the guilty responsible."

"It's okay," his father said, squeezing his shoulder. "I'll be back."

Feeling sick to his stomach, Edward watched his father leave with the two men. He stood on the landing after they'd driven away—his father in the back seat with his attorney—not knowing what to do. One time, when he'd been little, his father had taken him to Seattle for a game, and Edward had wandered off, just a few steps, but enough that when he'd turned around, he hadn't been able to see his father through the crowd of people. He'd been terrified. This felt like that.

What should he do? Should he call someone? Who? Billy? Why? What could he do? Knots forming in his stomach, Edward sat on the stairs and buried his face in his hands.

His phone rang, and he jumped at the sound. Just seeing Grace's name and picture on his screen, the knots in his stomach began to loosen.

"They just took my dad," he said without preamble.

"What do you mean, they took your father? Who is 'they?'"

Edward explained.

"What's the attorney's name?" Grace asked, her voice filled with a calm that helped the knots unravel further. "We have connections in Seattle. I'm sure everything will be fine, but if it becomes necessary, we can find out how good this man is, and if he's not the best, we'll find out who is."

Edward worried about how they'd afford that—the guy his father had was appointed to him by the Law Enforcement Association. But what was the alternative? How much was set aside for him for college? Who even knew how much a really good Seattle lawyer cost?

"Attorneys take pro bono cases," Grace said, as if she could guess what he was thinking about, "if only because they think it would be advantageous for them. I'm sure we can convince him or her your father's would be just such a case."

"Okay," Edward said. He was feeling better, not nearly so tense. "Can I see you?"

"Not yet, but in about ten seconds, if you open your door, then yes."

Edward yanked the door open.

Grace giggled. "Impatient?"

"You heard that?"

"I have very good hearing."

A car came into view, and Grace waved to him from the passenger seat. Edward hurried down the front stairs and pulled her into his arms the moment she stepped out of the car.

"I'm so glad you're here."

"I, too."

She held him for a moment, before introducing the woman with her as her cousin, Tanya. Edward recognized the woman from the hospital yesterday who'd stuck her head in to update them on Joe Crowley' condition. She was Grace's cousin? Yesterday, she had looked lost. Today, she looked fierce.

"I apologize," she said. Her expression softened, but not all the way to her eyes. "It's been a difficult twenty-four hours for everyone. I am very pleased to meet you, Edward." With a wink to Grace, she added, "Grace has spoken of nothing but you since we arrived."

A long look passed between the two, then Grace said, "I'll see you later at the house."

Tanya gave her a stiff nod in response, then turned to him. "Take care of her."

Edward pulled Grace closer to him. Did her family blame him for what she'd been through yesterday? He couldn't blame them if they did. If she hadn't come to see him when she had . . . He wondered if they knew she'd risked exposure to the sun. They probably wouldn't be happy about that either.

"She's just gotten some upsetting news," Tanya said.

Edward looked at Grace. She rolled her eyes, as if to blow off her cousin's concern, but Edward saw through it. The corners of her mouth were turned down. Whatever news she'd gotten, as her cousin had said, it had upset her.

"Come on, let's go inside."

"Just one second."

Grace returned to the car, and as she had once before, she retrieved something from the back seat. When she closed the door with her foot, she was carrying not one, but two insulated travel carriers.

"You brought us food?"

"Apparently, it's what one does."

~.~

Gray followed Edward into the house, keeping an ear out for what the men around his father were thinking. His father's mind being partially screened from her, it had taken her an uncomfortable length of time to locate their minds. The law had never interested her, but now she wished she'd studied it at some point. His father's attorney seemed competent to her from what she did know, though, and the men with him were keen on getting the facts documented and the investigation wrapped up as quickly as possible. Nobody doubted his father's actions had been justifiable. The evidence was conclusive. The security tape had worried her, but the angle was from behind them, facing the suspect, and it was dark and grainy. No one could see that she'd done anything suspicious, and the number of times the man had fired was unclear. Three shots but only two bullets would've been a problem.

She wished Tanya hadn't said anything about what she'd learned that morning after returning from Seattle. After yesterday, the last thing Edward needed adding to his concerns was her overreaction to a perfectly natural occurrence that had happened over two thousand miles away and in no way impacted them. It was nothing she hadn't known would eventually happen. Really, it should've happened decades ago.

"We made salmon. I hope . . . Do you like salmon?"

"This is Washington," Edward said, tugging on his sleeve. "If you don't like salmon, they kick you out."

Gray smiled at his attempt at humor, although his voice had been flat.

"Everything will be fine," she said.

"You're sure?"

"Anyone capable of rational thought could see your father's actions were entirely justifiable. The suspects fired first, both at the police and at us."

She opened the lid of the casserole dish, and bit her lip, waiting for his reaction. "Cedar plank salmon with a pepper honey glaze. Does it look okay?"

"Oh, man. It looks incredible," he said with emphasis on the last word.

"Oh, good. There's lasagna, too. I wanted to bring something I knew you'd like, and you were eating lasagna the night we met."

He laughed self-consciously.

"You, um, you remember that?"

She raised her eyebrows and grinned. With any luck, she could get him to forget Tanya had said anything.

"Great," he said, grabbing two plates.

"None for me."

"Are you sure?"

"Very."

He opened the refrigerator and recited a menu's worth of choices, asking what she wanted.

"Nothing for me. Thank you. I grabbed a bite with Tanya earlier."

"I've been eating all day," he said, putting a salmon fillet on his plate with some of the rice and vegetables on the side. "This smells amazing."

Gray crinkled her nose.

Taking his first bite, Edward closed his eyes and hummed.

"Oh, man."

"Is it good?"

"So much better than good."

"I'm glad."

"What happened?" he asked. "Your cousin said you'd gotten bad news?"

Gray's teeth ground together. So much for getting him to forget. She should've brought dessert, too.

"It was nothing, really."

"If you don't want to talk about it—"

"It's not that. It's . . . I overreacted to some news, that's all. Really, it doesn't matter."

Without a word, Edward ran his fingers down her arm.

"Someone I knew when I lived in Chicago with my parents passed away. That's all."

"Who was it?"

"A relation of Trudy's." Against her will, memories flooded Gray's mind. "Mary Agatha Emerson. She was 107."

"Whoa."

Gray laughed humorlessly.

"I'm sorry," Edward said, his fingers moving up and down her arm again. "Are you going back to Chicago for the funeral?"

People she'd loved paraded through her mind.

"No."

"You haven't kept in touch with your old friends at all."

Trudy . . . Sybbie . . . Both of them gone so long ago. All of them, everyone, gone now.

"No."

"You miss them," Edward said.

"Yes."

"Did you and them get into a fight or something?"

"No. No, it's nothing like that. It's just that it's true, what they say. You can never go back."

"Was Trudy's last name Emerson?"

Gray nodded.

"What was Sybbie's"

She didn't like where this was going, but she answered.

"Taylor-Weston."

"Come here," Edward said.

When she stepped into his arms, the ghosts of a hundred years ago and the shadow of yesterday faded away. Nothing in the world existed but the two of them.

 _Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same._

Oh, God . . . She was quoting from _Wuthering Heights_ now, and she hated that book. The sentiment was so exactly what she felt, though, she'd have to forgive it its source material.

She reached up and pressed her lips to his, and several long minutes of slow, lazy kisses followed. She no longer regretted her inability to sleep because no dream could ever be better than this. And there was so much more for them yet to share. She smiled against his lips at the thought, and stretched up higher, her hand slipping into his hair. It was damp near the roots, and he smelled like soap. His hands were on her hips, his thumps tracing circles on her skin under her sweater. She was floating on air.

He groaned, and his thumbs stilled against her skin. He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing heavily. She hummed.

"Grace," he said between breaths.

She kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Can I ask you something?"

Like a bucket of cold water, a tremor of apprehension ran down her from head to foot. She pulled her lips between her teeth and nodded her head.

"When we were, um, downstairs the other day, you know, on the couch. . . Um . . . You said something."

With a sinking feeling, Gray remembered all the things she'd said that day.

"You said you were sorry," he said. "I just, I don't . . ." He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried again. "If I went too far—"

"What? No! Edward, no. It was wonderful, like a dream."

He smiled down on her in obvious relief. "For me, too." He touched her face. "I don't know what you thought you could have to be sorry for."

Shame engulfed her. Of all the things she'd said that day that he could have chosen to ask her about, Gray thought she'd have preferred her saying she'd been born in 1901 or her Victorian grandmother or going into full mourning for her grandfather. How could she explain what she'd done?

Another man's voice echoed in her ears, cold, hard, and cruel. A man she'd trusted, who she'd respected. Who she'd been foolish enough to think had respected her. She could feel his hands around her arms, the bricks against her back as he'd shoved her against the wall.

Racked with guilt, she shrunk in on herself.

Edward's hands cupped her face.

"Grace?"

He kissed her forehead and held her.

How could she admit to him what she'd done to cause him to think what he had?

"It was my fault," she said.

"Don't say that."

"It was."

"No. It wasn't."

"You don't know—"

"I can take a pretty good guess," he said gently.

Gray broke down in his arms.

"He said I'd led him on. But I swear, I didn't mean to. I never thought . . . I did do what he said I did, but not, it wasn't, I didn't mean . . . I was stupid and naïve and foolish and headstrong and so very naïve and stupid, but never did I mean what he said. Never did I think . . . That was my problem. I didn't think. I never did. I was so sure of myself, of my position. I was arrogant, ignorant of what the world really was. I grew up very sheltered. Dangerously so. I thought I could do whatever I wanted, say whatever I wanted, and because of who and what I was and who and what my father was, there would never be any repercussions. I could get away with it. I was wrong. Oh, God. I'm so ashamed."

All the while she'd talked, Edward held her. He lay his check on the top of her head, and his hands rubbed her back.

"I'm so ashamed," she said again.

"It wasn't you're fault."

"It was. You don't understand. If I hadn't done what I had, he never would've thought, he never would have presumed—"

"Grace, whatever you did, it doesn't matter."

"He . . . I screamed, and I slapped him as hard as I could. He told me . . . He told me I was a tease, that I'd lead him on. Carlisle found us then. He'd heard me scream and came right away. I'd never seen anyone so angry. I'll never forget how he looked, wild-like, like a man possessed. His face was twisted. He was almost unrecognizable. He grabbed Phillip by the front of his shirt and dragged him away from me. I never saw him again."

Edward kissed the top of her head.

"I was afraid you'd think I led you on," she admitted in a whisper.

He stiffened against her, then relaxed and held her tighter.

"Never think that."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have burdened you with all that. It was ages ago, and I came over hoping to cheer you up, not upset you further."

"Grace." Edward put two fingers under her chin and lifted her face to look at him. His were like two glowing green embers. "Oh, God," he said, choked with emotion. "I'd like to break every fucking bone in his body."

Bones would be all that was left by now.

"You've been through so much," he said, touching her face. "I want . . ." He cleared his throat. "I know we haven't known each other long—"

"I feel as if I've known you all my life," she said. "Like my entire life has been designed to be what it needed to be to bring me to this place at this time to find you."

"That's exactly how I feel. Like I've been waiting for you to come. I feel like I dreamed you into life."

This, this very moment, this was what pure, unadulterated happiness felt like. Gray ran her hands from Edward's shoulders down his arms.

"I'm here now."

"Don't go anywhere."

"Where would I go? 'For where thou art, there is the world itself, and where thou art not, desolation.'"

~.~

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and that you'll drop me a review and tell me what you thought. The next chapter will post in two weeks, and a teaser will post the Wednesday before on Facebook groups Twilight FanFiction Pays it Forward, Twilight FanFiction Recommendations II, Tufano79 Twilight Fanfiction Appreciation..., The No Rules Twilight fan fic Recs Club, and The Twilight Fan Fiction Finders. Pick your favorite group and check it out. Reviewers get a sneak peek at the sneak peek!

Author's notes – **Regarding the assault Gray tells Edward about** , in my head, he wasn't going to rape her. There will be more on this in the second half of the story, assuming I ever get it written, but basically, something she'd done made him think she was "easy," which, as he found out, wasn't true, and he was pissed off. He started to get violent, but Carlisle came to the rescue. I put the warning in at the top of the chapter more because of her blaming herself rather than him than because of the assault itself. Gray is a product of her era. I think, under the full circumstances, she would absolutely blame herself. Our world is unique. At any other time in history, anywhere in the world, it would have been seen that way. Even in our world today, we're far from perfect and the victim is often blamed, both by others and they blame themselves.

From what I read, it is standard procedure for someone on paid administrative leave to have to stay at home during their normal working hours. The reason is they're required to be immediately available for questioning at any time during normal business hours. (Given that, I imagine drinking would be a no-no.) They can request permission to leave the house during those times, but they're required to use their accrued vacation or sick time to cover it, exactly as if they were requesting to leave work during their normal work hours.

For an non-native English speakers, "OD'd" is short for overdosed.

In this chapter, Gray quotes from _Wuthering Heights_ and Shakespeare's _King Henry VI_ **.**

Hope to see you back in two weeks! Only four more chapters to go!


	17. Chapter 17

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

This story is set in 2012.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years -_ of support and encouragement and to Patricia for all her help and advice.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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Hello all!

I'm thrilled to say that _Stepping from Shadows_ came in third place in the

Undiscovered Gem category

in the Twific Fandom Awards! Thank you so much to everyone who voted!

To celebrate and say thank you, special early update!

(Also celebrating that my hard drive isn't dead and that I'm 53 miles away from my goal of 125 miles between walking and the exercise bike in March!)

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 _Chapter 17_

~.~

The light rain that had drizzled down during his drive let up as Edward sat in his truck, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, on the first day back at school. As he waited for Grace, Lauren Mallory pulled into the lot, and Edward watched as she walked past his truck with her head bent over her phone. His thumbs fell still. Everyone he knew updated their Facebook status twenty times a day. Okay—that was an exaggeration, but everyone his own age _was on_ Facebook. But Trudy Emerson and Sybbie Taylor-Weston were not. Not Facebook, not Twitter, not anywhere he could find. Was there any such thing as a teenager not on Facebook or Twitter? It was as if Grace's old friends did not exist. Maybe they used false screen names for privacy, he reasoned. Chicago was not Forks.

He was dreading today. The paper had been full of the robbery and shooting for days. There'd been photos—photos of the scene, of him, of Grace, of his father, of Joe, of Chris. And articles, day after day, of the same story. Edward frowned. All the reports said there were two shots fired in the store. There were two holes in the wall, two casings found on the floor. But he remembered hearing three shots. God knew, he remembered hearing three shots. He could hear them even now—he heard them in his head, the initial blast and an impossibly long, drawn out echo afterward. He could see Chris's finger curl around the trigger. He swore he could even see the bullet leave the gun in super slow motion, spiraling out of the barrel, smoke trailing behind it. Edward shuddered. It was a relief when Grace pulled in and parked next to him. The sight of her chased the echoes away.

As he joined Grace and her family, Edward tugged on his sleeve. The bruise around his wrist was an angry dark purple, and so far, he had kept it hidden, wearing shirts with sleeves that hung long. He'd feel better once it was healed. He didn't want to be asked questions about it, because he didn't have answers.

"Ready to do this?" he asked, taking her hand when she eyed the school with a look of apprehension on her face. Despite its being a cold, wet, miserable day, their raincoats hung open, unzipped. He tucked the lock of hair that always fell into her face behind her ear. As if starting in a new school wouldn't be stressful enough, add to that what had happened over break, and she would be stared at wherever she went.

She gave him a forced, lopsided smile. "First day at a new school," she said. "Always fun."

When he saw Alice and Jasper glance at each other and smirk, Edward felt goosebumps erupt on his arms. He'd only been around them a couple of times, but he always got the weirdest feeling around them, like a tightening in his chest. Part of it, he thought, was remembering seeing Alice slip her hand into Jasper's back pocket and knowing they were together, but there was more to it than that. Alice looked at him expectantly, like she was waiting for something, but Jasper . . . from Jasper, Edward thought, he saw something like a challenge, or a leeriness, like whatever Alice was waiting for, Jasper was afraid of. It was more than a little creepy, the way they looked at him.

"How about you?" Grace asked, giving his hand a light tug. "Are you ready for this?"

Edward sighed. "Ready as I'll ever be." On top of all the stares and questions he knew he was about to be faced with, today would be the first day he'd seen Ben since what had happened, and Edward had dreaded its coming more as each day had passed. It might have been better, after all, had he called him that next day, gotten the first meeting out of the way before time had had a chance to make it harder.

Beside him, Grace gasped, and when Edward saw where her wide-eyed expression was fixed, he remembered that she had asked him once about the old school. The new high school had been built directly on the site of the old one. It was a modern looking building, but also had brickwork that recalled the old school and—

"They salvaged the old entryway," Grace said as they walked up to the front door.

The stone surround from the old school's front doors had been kept and incorporated into the new building. Like bookends, two matching cornerstones stood on either side of the doors—one reading 2011, the other reading 1925.

Grace stood motionless, until Jasper nudged her arm.

"Esme would be thrilled," Alice said brightly. "She's all about salvaging old architecture."

"They found a time capsule that had been buried during the Depression when they tore the old school down," Edward said.

"I remember," Grace said in a low, detached voice. "I mean, I remember hearing something about that."

"Really?" There had been a big fuss when it had been found and they'd opened it, but Edward didn't think anyone gave it a second thought anymore. "All the stuff that was in it is in a display case outside the office."

"They kept it?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, they couldn't just toss it."

"What was in it?" Alice asked.

"Just everyday stuff. A newspaper and a magazine. Some letters. Pictures of all the classes. Stuff like that. It was from, like, 1935, I think."

Grace, Alice, and Jasper exchanged glances.

They reached the office, and there stood the display case. The newspaper had headlines about Amelia Earhart and the sentencing of the man convicted of kidnapping and killing the Lindbergh baby. A copy of Time magazine announced President Roosevelt as the Man of the Year. Framed letters written with fountain pens stood next to grainy, black and white class pictures taken in front of the old school, the kids squinting from the sun in their eyes.

The corners of Grace's eyes drooped as she looked at the pictures. Alice moved half a step closer to her, and Jasper touched her arm. No matter how they made Edward feel, there was no doubt that they cared deeply for Grace, and by the glances she gave them, it was equally clear how deeply she cared for them. However it had come together, their family was very tightly knit.

~.~

"I still can't believe our schedules match exactly," Edward said as they made their way towards their first period English class.

Gray smiled in response. She'd already thanked Jasper. No doubt about it—it came in handy, having a crack computer hacker in the family.

Just as they had during their shared homeroom period, all heads turned in their direction as they walked down the hallway hand in hand. The rumor mill was off and running.

The tension that was so thick around Edward it could be cut with a knife had cleared momentarily with his comment, but it returned just as quickly. Gray was glad his friend was in their first class of the day—let him get the dreaded first meeting over with.

As they neared a classroom where subdued students filed in, Edward's steps slowed. An older woman stood at the front of the class, the students and she looking awkwardly at each other.

"Oh, God," he said. "Mr. Varner."

"That was his room?"

"Yeah. I can't believe I forgot."

Gray squeezed his hand.

"You had enough to be thinking about."

"I should've called Ben while we were off," he said in a low voice. "I just, I didn't want to intrude, you know? Or maybe I was just making excuses. I don't know. It sounded better last week. Now it just sounds like a cop out."

Gray raised their joined hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. Instantly, the thoughts of those around them rose to a deafening pitch, and the whispers that followed them were uttered with more urgency.

"God, I just want this to be over with," Edward said.

Finding the mind of the younger brother of the man who'd shot at them wasn't hard. If anyone were being stared at and thought about more than Edward and her, or Jasper and Alice, it would be him. Unsurprisingly, he dreaded the encounter even more than Edward did.

"Come on, this is us here," Edward said.

A dozen or more students were already in the classroom, all grouped in small clusters, their heads bent together, their voices low and talking over each other, but when Edward and she entered the room, all conversation halted and every head raised.

Edward fidgeted, tugging on his sleeve. He'd done that a number of times since the robbery, Gray had noted, but she'd replayed every moment they spent together prior to that, and she hadn't seen him do it once. Nervousness and anxiety showing themselves, she thought.

"Um, Ms. Mason, this is Grace— _Gray_ Cullen," he said.

The strength of the gratitude the woman felt seeing Edward safe and sound, combined with her restraint in not gushing over him the way their homeroom teacher had, won her points with Gray. If the way the tips of his ears had turned crimson was any indication, he had been mortified.

"Oh, yes," Ms. Mason said. "Grace. Of course."

In her mind, Gray saw a teenage Charlie Swan wearing a Spartan's baseball jersey and walking down the hallways of the old school. An attraction that had begun over twenty years earlier and lingered like a pressed flower in a scrap book tinted the memory. A teenage crush, already romanticized after a painful divorce, raised to new levels after everything that had happened.

"It's just Gray, please."

"Gray," the teacher repeated. "Your cousin—I believe he is?—is in this class too."

"Yes, ma'am. Jasper."

Behind her, a boy walked into the class, dragging his feet, his eyes focused on the floor. Gray saw him in the minds of everyone in the room. The handful of hushed conversations that had sprung up faltered, and Edward looked toward the door.

"Ben."

The boy raised his head like a prisoner awaiting his fate, and the students and teacher held their breath.

The silence in the room grew heavier with every tick of the clock, until Gray broke it, introducing herself. "Please let me tell you how very sorry I am—all my family are—for your loss," she said. "Your family are in our thoughts and prayers."

"You're _sorry_?" he asked, incredulous. He knew who she was, of course. Knew she'd been in the store. In his mind, she should be many things, but sorry was not one of them.

"God, Ben. Me, too," Edward said in a rush. "God, your parents—"

" _You're_ sorry?" he repeated.

"Drug addiction is the worst scourge mankind has ever faced," Gray said. "No plague in history has ever destroyed so many lives."

Ben fidgeted, shifting his weight from foot to foot and moving his books from one hand to the other. His mind was conflicted. On one side were memories of wrestling with his brother and eating cereal on the living room floor in front of the TV watching cartoons on Saturday morning. On the other, their mother finding his used needles in an empty soda can in his room. Losing someone you loved was always awful, but when you were mad as hell at the person as well, it was exponentially worse.

"Very well put," the teacher said. Her eyes had shifted across the room and briefly settled on a desk before she blinked away threatening tears as the memory of a healthy teenager sitting there haunted her. More memories followed it, the boy the same but not. The weight loss, the mood swings. . . .

More kids arrived, stopping in their tracks in the doorway, their audible gasps loud enough for the humans at the back of the room to hear, Gray didn't wonder.

Ben nodded his head, his eyes again on the ground, before shuffling his way to an empty desk at the back of the class and slouching down low. Several pairs of eyes followed him before returning to the front of the class.

Looking at her, Edward drew and released a long breath, and she followed him to two empty desks across from each other—whoever normally sat next to him would just have to move.

~.~

Edward fought the urge to laugh out loud, but he could not keep the corners of his lips from twitching. Grace hadn't kept her opinion of _The Great Gatsby_ to herself, not by any means. She and the teacher had been locked in a back-and-forth, arguing the merits of the book—or the lack thereof, on Grace's part—for twenty minutes. He glanced around the room, and one and all, every pair of eyes was fixed on them.

"The characters aren't people. They're personifications," Grace argued. "They don't exist because they have a story to tell. They exist solely to demonstrate Fitzgerald's sanctimonious contempt of everyone and everything—apart from himself, of course, who, through Nick, he holds above the failings and shortcomings of other men."

"You must forgive Gray, Ms. Mason," Jasper said, the corners of his own mouth upturned as well. "She is nothing if not contrary. The more widely a thing is loved, the more ardently she disdains it. She doesn't like the Beatles or _Seinfeld_ either, for no reason other than that everyone else does. She enjoys ruffling feathers."

"I dislike being told, 'This is marvelous. You must agree.' No, I mustn't," Gray responded. "And I like 'Come Together'."

"One song!"

Behind Edward, one of his buddies poked him with his pen.

"Dude, you seriously going out with _her_?"

"I know," Edward said. "She's amazing, right?"

~.~

Stuck at home, alone, Charlie was going crazy. Uncomfortable, like unseen eyes were watching him, he shifted his in seat at the kitchen table. He moved slowly. The irritating feeling like he'd whacked his funny bone was constant, but if he was careful about how he moved, he could minimize the actual pain. A moment later, he was on his feet, pacing the kitchen like a caged animal.

The investigation into the shooting was finished. He'd been exonerated—thank God for that—but the nightmare was far from over. He covered his eyes, trying to block things he could still see behind his lids. Nothing made the images go away. They were in front of him wherever he looked, day or night. That his actions had been judged by his peers and determined justifiable did nothing to drive away the scenes that haunted him. Nothing changed the fact that he had raised his gun, aimed it a living, breathing human being, and fired.

On the counter lay an informational booklet he'd been given about coping with the emotional aftermath of using lethal force. The card of the psychologist in Port Angeles he'd been referred to was paper clipped to the top corner. What the fuck did some doctor in his nice, safe little office know about anything? Had he ever killed anyone? Charlie swiped his hand across the counter, sending the booklet halfway across the room. The movement jarred his shoulder, and pain spiked sharply all the way down his arm, making him swear out loud.

It was getting worse. Day by day, it was getting worse. Immediately afterward, there had been other things to focus his mind on. But now . . . It hadn't been as bad when Edward had been home, but now that school was back in, Charlie was stuck in the house alone.

Edward.

God, Charlie still looked at his son and flashed back to the moment he'd sped into the parking lot, sirens blaring, and seen the old pickup parked there. Part of his mind would be stuck in that moment forever. He knew where Edward was, knew who he was with, but not having his son in his line of sight was screwing with his head, making him imagine all kinds of things. It was a sign of just how messed up he was, but Charlie was actually glad that girl was with him. It defied logic, but he had to admit, after what had happened, he trusted her not to let anything happen to his son. Fuck if he knew why, though.

Shut up in the house, Charlie felt like he couldn't breathe, like the walls were closing in on him. He itched to get out of the house, but the couple of times he'd gone out, people had either stared at him or refused to look anywhere near him. Not that it mattered. With his right arm still in a sling, he couldn't drive anyway. How was Edward's first day back at school going? he wanted to know. Was he getting gawked at and hammered with questions?

The last three beers from the six pack he'd started the day after the shooting had gotten pushed to the back of the fridge—deliberately—but they were still there. He'd been refusing to give in, afraid he'd start something he couldn't finish, but unable to stand it anymore, Charlie reached for the refrigerator door. Beers in hand, he made his way to the old stump just inside the woods and dropped onto it, swearing furiously at the rush of pain in his shoulder. Away from those four walls, he cracked one open left-handed and downed half of it in one go.

"Find it?"

Charlie groaned and covered his eyes with the back of his wrist, beer in hand. Mentally, he cursed, but he couldn't say he was surprised. The voice had come from off to the side and above. He turned his head and raised his eyes, and there she sat, two stories off the ground on a bough of a spruce tree. Tanya.

"Why can't you leave me alone?"

"Is that what you want?"

The word _yes_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he raised the can again and washed it down.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"To know if you found it."

He heard her feet hit the ground, and a moment later, she settled on the ground in front of him, her legs drawn up to her chest, ankles crossed, and her arms resting on her knees. He looked away, but he could see her from the corner of his eye. She tipped her head to the side as she regarded him.

"Found what?" he asked.

"Whatever it is you're looking for at the bottom of that can."

Charlie ignored her. Whoever the hell she thought she was, he didn't know. He finished the beer, crushed the can, and chucked it into the trees.

She looked at him disapprovingly and retrieved it.

"Have you gotten any sleep?" she asked.

"Sleep," Charlie said with a scoff. "What's that?"

"You're asking the wrong person, but I understand it's rather important for humans."

He opened and finished a second beer while she sat in front of him silently.

"They want me to see a shrink," he said.

"And what do you want?"

Charlie snorted and popped open the third can. What he wanted was to find the bastards who got kids like Chris hooked, lock them up, and throw away the key.

Then he wanted to burn the place to the fucking ground.

"Understandable," she said.

Charlie wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and stared at the ground. He'd said that out loud, he'd realized.

"I can still see him, you know?" he said, choking on the words. "A little kid, playing with Matchbox cars in a pile of dirt." His voice cracked, and his breath shuddered. "I swear, I heard the bullets hit him." The can dropped from his hand, and he broke down.

Arms encircled him, and a hand stroked his back as another cupped the back of his head.

~.~

Finally, it was the last class of the day. World history. As he and Grace made their way down the hall, it seemed to Edward that they were attracting fewer stares than they had that morning. The novelty wearing off, he guessed. More pressing concerns were occupying people's minds—like homework and what to do after school.

"Want to study for the Spanish test Friday one night this week?" he asked.

" _Claro._ "

"What?"

Grace giggled—God, he loved that sound. It made him feel like he was walking on air. "Sure," she said.

"Oh, right." Edward laughed. _Claro—_ sure _._

"So, what's this teacher like?"

"Ms. Kruger? She's okay. We're starting the early 20th century."

Grace rolled her eyes. "Of course."

"Not big on the early 1900s?"

"Oh, no. It was a great time to be alive. If you were male."

The class started with the same routine of introducing Grace to the teacher every other class had, and once she'd been given her book, they found two seats together in the back of the class. They'd disrupted the established seating arrangements in every other class, might as well finish the day out.

~.~

Alice shared this class with them, and she fluttered into the room just before the bell rang. She spoke to the teacher, collected her book, and made her way down the aisle between desks to the empty seat in front of Gray. Like always, everyone in the class watched every move they made, but the seats immediately around them stayed empty if they could at all be avoided.

Except Edward. Gray rested her head on her hand as she smiled at him, smiling back at her. _At her._ She stretched her legs out under the desk, crossing them at the ankles. Edward looking at her like that was still the most amazing thing she'd ever seen.

Almost as soon as Alice took her seat, the teacher closed the door and called the class to order. Along with everyone else, Gray opened her book to the correct page. _Here we go again_ , she thought to herself in resignation. The early 20th century. It would have to be then, of course. It couldn't be the ancient Sumerians or the Roman Empire or any other time in the history of the world. The book was a new one to her, and she idly wondered what pearls of wisdom the authors had to impart about a world they'd never experienced. This happened on this date, that happened on that date, so forth and so on, and not a single syllable of real understanding of what it had been like. Hearing history taught in high school was like listening to someone read their grocery list, and college was scarcely any better. At least Jasper had been spared being made to listen to the modern day's take on the Civil War again.

The teacher rested her hand on her stomach and swallowed back a wave of nausea as she sank down onto her chair, thankful that this was the last class of the day. Not surprising, given the soft, rapid heartbeat Gray could hear from below her ribs. It sounded like the ticking of a stopwatch held underwater. She and Alice were of one thought—they were very glad Rosalie was not pretending to be high school aged. Being forced to be in such close quarters with a pregnant woman would be salt in her wound.

The class dragged on, and tired and more than ready to go home and lie down, the teacher had them read to themselves for the rest of the period. Gray sneaked a peek at Edward. As if he could sense her eyes on him, he glanced her way, and when their eyes met, they both smiled.

Idly, Alice flipped over a page in their book.

 _GRAY!_

Instantly on alert, Gray scanned her thoughts for whatever potential crisis she'd seen, and nothing but the most practiced self-control kept her from betraying the pure shock she felt at what she saw in them.

The universe hated her. It had to.

Obscured though they were, memories of her human life flashed through her mind. How she had stood in front of her bedroom mirror, preening in that tricolored sash, adjusting it on her shoulder time and time again so that it draped across her body just so . . . Echoes of raised voices shouting over other raised voices, both sides trying to drown the other out. . . .

But not all the owners of the voices raised against them stopped with insults and curses. Gray heard the breaking of glass and her mother's scream. Her nose filled with the smell of gasoline and smoke, and she could see flames crawling across the parlor floor as burning gasoline spread. . . .

With effort, she pulled her eyes from Edward and turned the page, struggling to give every outward appearance of a bored teenager waiting for the last class of the day to end, but with her memory staring back up at her in undeniable black and white, her hand moved of its own volition to trace her mother's image, and she had to fight herself to pull it away. She was reacting stupidly at the worst possible time. She had photographs of her parents at home she could look at any time she wished, and Edward was sitting only feet away.

On the pages of her history book, she stood next to her mother as she'd introduced Mabel Vernon to the crowd, drawing cheers from some and jeers from others. The look on her younger self's face as she gazed at the prominent member of the suffrage movement was one of awe struck hero worship.

A larger than life moment in the life of her fifteen-year-old self, frozen on film and reproduced almost one hundred years later in a two-by-two inch photograph in a history book.

 _I don't see anyone commenting_ , Alice told her.

But that wasn't a guarantee. And as far as Edward went, it meant nothing.

Gray nudged a pen lying on her desk, and when it rolled off the edge, she bent over to retrieve it, glancing at Edward as she did so. She saw the moment his eyes stopped moving across the page and come to a standstill, his line of sight directly on the photograph.

Ducking her head, Gray scratched her upper lip. Panic was building up in her to the point it was becoming a physical pain in her chest.

"He's looking right at it," she said to Alice in a voice too low for human ears. "What do we do?" What was Edward feeling at that moment? She wished Jasper were there, but small as the school was, he was on the far side of it.

 _So, there's an old picture of a girl who looks just like you. It's a coincidence. Everyone has a twin somewhere._

"I can't lie to him."

 _You've been lying to him all this time._

"Alice!"

Edward looked at her, as did a girl nearby. Gray coughed and mumbled an excuse me. Her sister's words had stung her, all the more because she knew they were true, and in her surprise, she'd spoken loudly enough that those nearby had heard what they took to be a stifled sneeze.

"That's not fair," she said much lower. "I have no choice. And that's different. This would be a deliberate falsehood. I can't do that."

 _Then tell him the truth._

"You are not being helpful, Alice."

 _I'm sorry, but those are your two options._ Then, more sympathetically, _We're probably overreacting because we know there is something to react to. Edward will probably think exactly what I said—there's a girl who looks like you in an old photograph. Why would he think anything else?_

Gray tried to see the reason in what Alice had said. Coincidence. Of course, he would see it that way. Why would he not?

~.~

The scent of the coffee in front of him was strong and rich, and faint swirls of steam rose from the surface. Unable to muster the energy to reach for the cup, Charlie watched them curl through the air before dissipating. He felt heavy and hollow. His throat was scratchy, and his eyes puffy and irritated still. And he was tired. So damned tired. Behind him, Tanya moved around, opening and closing drawers and cabinets. When it had started to rain, she'd led him inside and settled him at the kitchen table before setting about making him coffee, and, from the sounds of it, dinner.

It was like he'd fallen into an episode of the _Twilight Zone_.

He didn't know why he'd spilled his guts like that to her. He didn't know why he was sitting there now, in his own house, at his own kitchen table, while she played human housewife. Billy'd blow a gasket if he knew. The coffee smelled damned good, though, and the scent working on him, Charlie dredged up the energy to reach for it.

~.~

With the creaking of the wooden chair, Tanya stopped what she was doing. She didn't breathe—not because she was holding her breath, but because her entire focus was so concentrated on one thing, she forgot. Was he fidgeting? Humans did that a lot, she knew. But he'd been sitting in one position for several minutes without moving. Was he uncomfortable? Or worse, did his shoulder hurt? She waited for a caught breath or a sound of some kind that might indicate he felt pain, but none came, and she relaxed. The human who'd shot him died without knowing how lucky he was. Had she gotten to him before the drugs had, he'd have known what pain was. She heard ceramic move across wood. The chair creaked again. A shorter creak that time, he'd sat back, but not fully. A breath and a ripple of liquid, followed by a small sip. Testing, tasting. Tanya longed to turn around, she wanted to see his verdict in his face, but she was afraid of spooking him. That she was even there at all was more than she could've hoped for. So, she waited. For seconds that felt like years, she waited until there was a second sip, longer that time, and the chair creaked a third time as he sat back fully and relaxed as much as his injured shoulder allowed.

Tanya felt over the moon.

~.~

* * *

Hey there! Thank you again to everyone who voted for Stepping from Shadows in the Twi Fandom Fic Awards. I seriously have to keep pulling it up to double check that I really did come in third.

I hope you all liked the chapter. Let me know what you thought. I know what you're all waiting for, and all I can say it, just wait until you see the next chapter!

Author's notes:

The old Forks High School the Cullens would've attended when they first lived in Forks really was torn down, and there are matching cornerstones on either side of the entryway-from the old school and a new one. The stonework around the main entry really does look a lot like the old school, from what I can see in pictures, but I don't think it's the old one salvaged.

 _Claro_ is Spanish for "sure."


	18. Chapter 18

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic!

This story is set in 2012.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years -_ of support and encouragement and to Patricia for all her help and advice.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

~.~

* * *

~.~

I'm thrilled to say that _Stepping from Shadows_ came in third place in the

UNDISCOVERED GEM

category in the Twific Fandom Awards! Thank you so much to everyone who voted!

~.~

* * *

~.~

 _Chapter 18_

~.~

Edward sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, and his phone in his hand. Next to him lay a framed photograph of his mother. Given what had happened later that day, it was only now that he was thinking about what his father had revealed to him about their marriage. Why had he never told him before? There was a feeling of betrayal, and of disappointment. He didn't feel like he could ask his father about what had happened. He'd never felt that before, that there was something he couldn't talk to his father about, and he didn't like it. He spoke into the phone in hushed tones, not wanting his voice to carry.

"I suppose he thought it was for the best," Grace said in answer to his question. "Let sleeping dogs lie."

"She was my mother. Don't you think I had a right to know she'd walked out?"

"Yes, she was your mother, but, Edward, you have to remember, before she was your mother, she was his wife."

With his free hand, Edward rubbed his eyes.

"Try to see it from his position," Grace said. "It has to be a very painful subject for him, and I can only imagine, more than a little embarrassing."

"What would there have been to be embarrassed about? It was the 1990s, not the 1890s. Divorce happens."

"I don't mean in the external, social stigma sense. I mean internally. Put yourself in his place. On a month's acquaintance, you ran off and eloped, and then to have the marriage fail after only a few years? When your parents returned to Forks, married, I'm sure there were a good number of people who congratulated them to their faces only to gossip about them behind their backs, making jokes about long it would last. To admit defeat and have the naysayers proved right? It had to have been beastly."

Edward grinned. _Beastly._ He loved the way Grace talked.

"Do you think I could ask him about her? About exactly what happened, I mean?" For all Edward knew, she'd gone out for milk one afternoon and never come home. "He's got enough on his mind already, with his arm and everything. I mean, I don't want to add one more thing."

"I think you could. He could well be expecting you to."

Edward nodded. Then, on a different subject, he said, "So, um, your cousin's been around a lot." Since he'd come home after school the Monday after Easter and found her there, she'd been at the house pretty much every day—every cloudy day, that was. He didn't like to ask Grace, but it seemed like her whole family suffered from the same photosensitivity problem she did. Which was strange, seeing as none of them were actually related—not by blood.

"Do you mind?"

Mind? "No."

It wasn't really his place to mind if his father had a woman over, was it? His father was his father. Granted, it was a first. Not to mention a little bit of a turnaround, given his original opinion on Grace and her family, but it was a welcome turnaround. And, okay, maybe there was just a little weirdness at the idea of his dad possibly being in a relationship at some point. He was his _father_. Okay, yeah, there was a definite _Ew_ factor. But, then, he hadn't always been his father. This was the same man who'd once run off with a woman he'd only known for a month and eloped. That was almost twenty years ago, though, and once bitten. . . .

"He's never, you know, seen anyone. Not that I know of, anyway."

"What time are you going?" she asked.

He sighed. "Pretty soon, I guess." His father and he were going out to the rez to watch the Mariner's home opener with a bunch of the guys. It was about the last thing in the world Edward wanted to do. "Game doesn't start till one, but there's the pregame and stuff. What about you? What are you doing today?" he asked as he crossed the room to look out the window. Above, the sun shone brightly in a clear, blue sky. For most people, it was a perfect day, but for Grace, it was a day confined to shadows. He'd rather share those shadows with her than spend the day in the sun with someone else.

"Just hanging out."

"I'd rather hang out with you."

"I'd rather that as well."

Edward grinned and leaned against the window sill. He laughed and said, "Hey, did you notice? There's a picture of you in our history book."

It sounded like she choked on something.

"There's—what?"

"Seriously, it looks just like you," he said. "Like, the spittin' image. Like, you in a passed life, or something. You sure your grandmother never attended any rallies for women's votes when she was young?"

"Grandmother, a suffragette?"

"Who knows. Stranger things have happened."

"You have no idea."

The words were mumbled, seemingly spoken under her breath, like Grace had spoken more to herself than to him.

~.~

As his father eased himself into the passenger seat of Edward's truck, he hissed in apparent pain. Edward pretended not to have noticed. The questions he wanted to ask would be hard enough to bring up without the reminder. He wished again that they weren't going to the rez. It would've been easier to talk over a game of pool—but as soon as the thought entered his head, Edward realized they wouldn't be playing pool together anytime soon. His father's shoulder was like when the power went out during a bad storm. You knew the power was out, but you reached for the light switch anyway.

He drove up the 101 in silence, and when he turned onto La Push Road, his father asked if there was something on his mind.

"No."

"Hm. Thought there might be."

"Okay, yeah. Why didn't you ever tell me about mom before?" Once having started, stopping became as hard as starting had been, and the questions poured out one after another.

When Edward's questions ran out, it was his father's turn to fall silent.

"Yeah," he said after a minute. "I figured you'd want answers. Been trying to come up with some that sounded better than it just didn't work out, but that's the simple truth of it. It just didn't."

Keeping in mind what Grace had said, that before his mother had been his mom, she had been his father's wife, Edward tried to put himself in his father's place. If Grace left him, how would he feel?

 _"Where thou art, there is the world itself, and where thou art not, desolation."_

Desolation. That was exactly how he would feel, like there was no reason to get out of bed in the morning. Was that what his father had felt? No wonder he'd never said anything about it. But his father had had him to take care of, not to mention his own parents' health had already been failing by then. He'd had to go on getting out of bed, getting through the day.

A terrible thought occurred to Edward—was the reason his father had never dated because he'd been that badly hurt by his mother?

Maybe Grace had been right—let sleeping dogs lie.

"Never mind," he said. "It doesn't matter."

Looking out the window at the trees passing by, his father said, "She didn't just up and leave or just walk out, or anything like that. When it came right down to it, we just had really nothing in common. Not enough to build a life together on. We were both tired of fighting all the time." Then, after making several false starts, as if he were unable to articulate what he wanted to say, his father said, all in a rush, "It sounds great to say two people only need to love each other, but it just isn't true. You need to have things in common. You need to find someone like you. A girl who comes from where you come from, who wants to be where you want to be, to go where you want to go."

Edward's heart sank. His father had just stated exactly what he had thought to himself more than once. Hearing someone else voice what he already knew made the truth of it all the more inescapable.

"Grace is out of my league, you mean."

"Now, that's just stupid talk," his father stated emphatically. "She isn't good enough for you."

Edward scoffed. "She quotes Shakespeare. And plays Beethoven—no sheet music or anything, just sits down a plays it. Modern stuff too. And she writes her own music. And she—she just knows about stuff, like art and stuff."

"So?"

Edward shook his head and scoffed again. "You seemed to be getting more okay with her. And you don't seem to mind her cousin much."

The set of his father's shoulders shifted, and his face twisted with what Edward supposed was a shock of pain from the movement.

"We don't have to go if you're not up to it. I can turn around."

His father made no reply for some time, then said quietly "Probably shouldn't mention that on the rez."

Edward's teeth clenched.

"Just . . . better," his father said.

"Fine."

Five miles passed by in silence until Edward asked, "What did Gram and Pop say when you came home married?"

His father's face, the way he looked down at his hands, gave away his answer. "I've never seen two people more hurt. I was their only child, and I went off and got married without them." He pressed his thumb and index finger to his eyes, then lowered them. Eyes on the dashboard, he said, "Don't go away. Don't let her talk you into just up and going off with her."

"What?" Edward asked, completely surprised. Did his father think he was thinking about . . . "Don't be—We're not—I'm not—God, we're seventeen." They were still in high school, for fuck's sake.

"Yeah."

Seventeen. He'd be eighteen in a couple of months. Grace would be eighteen a few months after that. His mother had been eighteen when they'd run off and gotten married.

"Dad, God, we're not—I didn't mean. . . ."

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. We're almost there."

They passed a sign for the Quileute Tribal Center, two miles.

~.~

The announcers droned on through the pregame show, but as Charlie took a drink of his Coke, he doubted anyone was paying attention.

On the other side of the room, Edward sat, looking toward the front window while alternating between tugging on his sleeves and tapping his fingers on his leg. The ride there had been awkward as hell. Charlie'd never been any good at talking about stuff. Hell, maybe if he had been, who knew, maybe Renee . . . But it was no good going there. No amount of talking could've made two so incompatible people compatible. And, Lord knew, Renee'd talked enough for the both of them. And then some.

Edward hadn't wanted to come, Charlie knew, and he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Charlie hated how the secret Jacob had to keep from him had eroded at their friendship. There was no need to wonder what his son was thinking right then. The way his attention kept being drawn to the sun shining through the window, Charlie already knew, and it wasn't were Jacob was.

In contrast, Billy looked like the cat that got the canary, and it made Charlie distinctly uneasy. Between them sat Harry Clearwater, wearing his best poker face and making small talk. He sounded like a telemarketer reading from a script. Harry was the worst poker player Charlie'd ever seen.

"Where's Jacob?" Charlie asked.

He reached for his glass on the table next to him but thought better of it. If he drank too much he'd have to use the bathroom and that would mean having to heave himself out of Billy's old couch. He should've thought ahead and sat somewhere else.

"Sunny day like this? Out somewhere and up to something. I expect him 'n the boys'll be around soon enough."

At the dig about the sunny day, Charlie's jaw set hard. His friend wasn't helping. The look on Edward's face was glacial. He was seventeen and crazy about that girl. Mocking what Edward believed to be her condition had been like waving a red flag in front of a bull. For Charlie's own part, his mind couldn't help but think about Tanya. What did she do on sunny days anyway? His stomach turned at the thought that she might be . . . Rationally, he knew what she was. And he knew what she did. But thinking that she could be doing it at that very moment. . . .

There were some chips and salsa at his elbow. He pushed them away.

A car pulled up with what sounded like at least ten guys hooting and hollering, with Jacob the loudest of them all. Uncomfortable from sitting in one position for too long, Charlie grit his teeth and shifted in his seat, settling more of his weight against the arm of the couch, his body slowly relaxing as the pain of moving ebbed.

"Okay there?" Harry asked.

"Super."

Harry and Billy shared a look—Billy's pleased expression briefly dimming with concern—just as Jacob and a couple of the other boys from the pack poured in through the door, pushing and shoving each other and laughing.

"There he is," Jacob said, reaching for one of Edward's arms and pulling him to his feet. "Let's go, Whitey."

"I really don't—"

"And I really don't care," Jacob said, cutting him off. "We're going out and having some fun, and you're coming with us."

"We're watching the game."

"Catch the highlights later."

"Go on," Billy said, smiling once again. "Hang out with the guys. Tell him, Charlie."

That getting Edward out with the boys had been the plan all along was perfectly clear, but that there had been a plan in the first place—combined with the satisfied expression on Billy's face—sat uneasily with Charlie. Maybe some time with the guys would be good, though, he thought to himself. Remind Edward that there was a world outside of that girl, that he'd had a life before she came around.

"Yeah. Yeah, go on. Go hang out with the guys and do something."

"Fine."

Watching Edward relent and head out the door, Charlie felt like Judas, but he pushed the feeling down. Time with the guys would be good for him. It was just what he needed.

~.~

It was only once Edward was gone that Charlie realized there had been more to his friends' plan than just getting him out with the guys. They'd also wanted to get him—Charlie—alone, and now that they had, he felt like a mouse backed into a corner by a couple of cats.

Billy's expression had undergone a complete one-eighty. His eyes were hard, and his lips were pressed firmly into a thin line. Harry, by contrast, looked like the photographs of the shrinks in that emotional health pamphlet the Police Association had given him.

"How's the shoulder?" Harry asked. "Got you doing any physical therapy yet?"

Good Lord, they were going to Good Cop/Bad Cop a cop, Charlie realized.

"If you call flexing my wrist back and forth and touching my chin to my chest as physical therapy, then yeah."

And there was the ball. A small rubber ball he was supposed to squeeze in his hand. Except he couldn't do it. He couldn't close his hand around the stupid thing and squeeze. Or he could, but barely. He didn't have enough strength in his grip. Charlie didn't like to think about that damned ball.

"Gotta start small," Harry said.

"Yeah." Charlie took a breath. "How about we cut the crap, and you tell me what that was all about."

"What _what_ was all about?" Harry asked.

Charlie gestured toward the door.

"Don't know what you mean. Just the kids out bein' kids. Like we all used to."

"Yeah. I look like I just fell off the turnip truck to you?"

Billy leaned back. He tipped his head back and looked at Charlie down his nose.

"The kids've been saying one of them's been hanging around your place the past few days. A different one. Another female. Hanging around you."

 _Oh, hell._ Charlie should've known they'd already know about that. "Yeah. Tanya."

Billy leaned forward in his chair, hands clutching the armrests.

"You crazy?" He sat back, waving his hand in a gesture of disbelief. "' _Tanya_ ,' he says. We don't care what they call themselves. They're all the same. You should know that as well as we do."

Charlie rubbed the back of his neck, and squinted his eyes. After so many days of wearing a sling, his skin was red and irritated, and it stung. "What if they're not?" he asked reluctantly, knowing the blowup it'd cause.

He wasn't disappointed.

"What if—" Billy said. He cut himself off and started again. "Now I know you're crazy. You forget what they've done?"

"No," Charlie said, his own temper rising. "I can't forget what they've done. Not with the lump of lead I got at home to remind me."

"What are you talking about—a lump of—"

"The lump of lead that used to be the bullet that stupid little shit fired at my son. That that girl grabbed out of the air before it—before it—" Charlie's breath left him. He'd never spoken the words out loud before. He ran a shaking hand over his face as he struggled to fill his lungs, his deep breaths causing his shoulder to burn and throb. "Look, I know. I know what others like them have done. But I know what that girl did, too. She grabbed a bullet out of the air— _she_ _caught it_ —she fucking caught a bullet fired point blank at Edward. She saved his life. Forgive me if I think that matters."

Harry seemed about to begin a rehearsed speech but then changed his mind. He and Billy looked worriedly at each other. "Of course it matters," he said quietly.

"It doesn't change their nature, Charlie," Billy said.

"Their nature," Charlie retorted. "You know how much blood there was all over the place—all over her hands—when she stopped Joe Crawley's bleeding? Jesus Christ, when I saw her leaning over him . . . I'm not the only one in Forks who owes her their kid's life."

"But how many people has she killed?" Billy asked.

The blunt question was like a punch in the gut. She'd saved two lives—but had she ended others?

"You're saying you're fine with Edward cozying up to one of them?" Harry asked.

"No, dammit." Charlie pressed his forehead to the L formed between his thumb and forefinger.

"Then you gotta keep him away from her."

Charlie laughed with contempt. "Keep a seventeen-year-old boy away from the girl he's crazy about. How do you suggest I do that? Drug him, or lock him up?"

"You could start by not inviting that other one into the house."

"Tanya's okay," Charlie said, surprising himself at the defensiveness he felt prickling through him. Was he really going to side with those people over his friends?

"She's messing with your mind, Charlie. Making you think there's nothing wrong with them. I don't care how pretty she is. Those things are dangerous."

"Dangerous. She does stuff around the house. She helps out. A hell of a lot, actually. It's not exactly easy taking care of a house and making dinner with only your left hand."

It wasn't only the help she was around the house. She got him to talk. The idea of going to a shrink and lying on a couch, talking about his feelings, made Charlie feel like he was going to throw up. But Tanya got him to open up. He could talk to her. She didn't hound him with questions or try to placate him. She just let him talk when he felt like it, and if he didn't, she didn't push. Mostly, she was just there. He wasn't alone. She was a quiet presence nearby. It was comfortable. And it helped.

"You know damn well what she could do, what that girl could do."

"And I know that if they wanted to do that, they could have done it before we'd even set eyes on them." Aggravated, Charlie moved too quickly. Sharp pain stabbed through his shoulder and down his arm, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. What twisted his gut, though, was that, yes, he was going to defend those people to his friends. "Look. I do know what they are. But that girl cares about Edward. You didn't see the way she was that day, the way she was aware of him, wherever he was."

Billy grumbled under his breath. "Yeah, we got our ideas about that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Charlie asked, his posture changing.

"She wouldn't have to want to hurt him," Harry said.

Charlie turned back to Harry, but from the corner of his eye, his attention was on Billy. His friend's eyes were like two black stones.

"It could be a pure accident."

"An accident," Charlie said. "Like Emily?"

Beneath their russet complexions, both Billy and Harry went white, and Charlie knew he'd gone too far. It was true though, and they'd lied to him about it.

~.~

 _Well, this is fun_ , Edward thought to himself. Just him and the whole Sam Uley fan club. He'd always gotten along with Jake's friends before, but since they'd all started hero worshiping Sam, another kid, Paul, had started hanging around with them, and he was another story. Paul was the kind of guy who always looked ready to pick a fight with the world, and he'd been glaring at Edward since they'd left Jake's place. Edward tugged on his sleeve. Paul's problem, he didn't care about, but Jake's face was like a mask. He hadn't spoken or even looked in Edward's direction since they left the house, and Edward was growing more and more pissed off. If Jake hadn't wanted him around, he shouldn't have dragged him out. Edward sure as hell hadn't asked to go.

They'd all piled into a pickup and driven across the reservation to one of the other guys' houses. Now, rounding the house to the back yard, Edward saw Sam coming out of a large garage, and his mood soured further as Sam and Jake exchanged curt nods.

"They're looking good," Sam said to Jake.

He looked at Edward like he was about to say something, but just then the sound of a revving engine came from the garage, and a chorus of cheers and hollers broke out from most of the group. Two older guys, Sam's age, followed Same out, each pushing a motorcycle.

"Sounding good, too," one of the group said.

"That wasn't—" Edward said, his irritation forgotten in an instant as excitement grew inside him. "That was—" He laughed and gave Jake a good shove. "You fucker! You finished them? Why didn't you say? Oh, my God!"

"'Course he finished them," another said. "Jake's a master."

"Started up like a beauty," one of the two older guys said. Mark, Edward knew his name was. He knew the two guys in passing, but not more than a name to a face. The other guy was Scott.

"The guys are gonna teach us to ride 'em," said Jake's friend, Embry, sounding like a kid on Christmas.

Sam . . . That was a damper, but so be it, if it got Edward onto a motorcycle. He felt like a kid on Christmas himself, a giddy-like excitement.

"Jesus, Jake. How'd you get 'em finished so soon?" How'd he get the money for the parts? Edward wondered. And how much did he owe for his share?

"Some of the guys pitched in," Jake said, not sounding nearly as psyched as Edward felt. "We gonna look at them or ride them?"

Nerves? Edward wondered. Not at riding them, maybe that something wouldn't work right? Edward watched him as he went up to the bikes and looked them over. They'd been nothing but a couple of junkers to start with, after all, and there were a lot of people around to test them out in front of.

"They're gonna run great," Edward said.

Jake looked at him, but his face was pinched. "'Course they are."

What was his problem? Edward moved with the crowd up to the bikes to check them out, but his steps were slow. Jake looked exhausted, he noticed for the first time. Like he was stretched to breaking point. Was something wrong—something important?

Standing next to Jake, Edward nudged him.

"What's up?" he asked under his breath.

His face hard, Jake shook his head. Not now, Edward took it as, and he let it go.

"Let's get 'em in the back of the truck," Jake said, taking one of the bikes from the other guys and pushing it toward the truck they'd come in.

"We're gonna take 'em down to River Drive and try 'em out," someone said, but Edward wasn't paying attention enough to say who. Had he been so caught up in their disagreement about Sam that he'd missed seeing that something was really wrong? Billy's health? His dad never did think Billy took his diabetes seriously enough, and it had landed him in that chair.

Edward stepped forward to help lift the bikes into the truck's bed, but he came to stand still when Jake lifted one by himself and one of the other guys lifted the other, also by himself.

 _Um, okay_ , Edward thought to himself. What was that—five hundred pounds? Six? More?

~.~

Down by the marina River Road could be crowded, but once you passed the marina, you passed the crowds and saw no one. They had the long, straight stretch of road to themselves.

"Okay, children, gather round," Sam said, swinging his leg over one of the bikes. He put a helmet on. "School is now in session."

Along with the rest of the guys, Edward circled the bike. Jake's attention seemed more on the gravel on the side of the road than on his hero sitting on the bike he'd built practically from scrap.

"Ignition," Sam said, turning the key. "Clutch, in front of the left hand grip. Light switch, here. Throttle, right hand grip." He rolled the throttle forward, and the bike let out loud, rumbling roar. "Front brake, in front of the right hand grip. Gear shift, in front of your right foot. Rear break, by your left foot."

Edward repeated each part to himself like checking items on a list.

"Right. Gear indicator, here—make sure you're in neutral. The lowest position is first, half a click up is neutral, then second. Squeeze the clutch. Press the starter. Move into first by pushing down on the shifter. Gently let the clutch out, and the bike moves." He rode at a crawl for a few feet then stopped. "Let the clutch out too quickly, and the bike will kick forward then stall, and we will all laugh at you. So, let the clutch out gently. Slowly apply the throttle—just because these bikes are older than you are doesn't mean they don't have any power in them. And that's it. You're riding." He rode twenty or so yards and circled back. "Now, who wants to go first? Jacob, since he's the man of the hour?"

Almost reluctantly, Jake swung his leg over the bike Sam had ridden, and a couple of guys hollered and clapped.

"You know where everything is?" Sam asked.

"You serious?" Jake snapped back.

The two glared at each other, and Edward's eyebrows shot up. Granted, it was a stupid question—Jake had built the thing after all. Of course he knew where everything was. Still, it surprised him to see the open hostility in Jake's face.

"Alright, then. Helmet on," Sam said, holding the helmet out before stepping back and putting his hands up. "Go for it."

Jake gripped the clutch and rolled the throttle. The bike roared under him, and a surge of excitement rushed through Edward. "Yeah-ah!" someone shouted. Sam looked amused, like he was waiting for something. Jake let the clutch out. The bike lurched forward, stalled out, and toppled over, nearly taking Jake with it. All the guys laughed as Jake hopped around on one foot, trying to stay upright.

"And that, is why you want to let the clutch out gently," Sam said.

Jake glared.

"You okay?" Edward asked.

Jake nodded stiffly.

"Wanna try it again?" Sam asked. "Let the clutch out slowly and let it just coast for a bit. Then give it a little throttle. Too much throttle, and you'll pop a wheelie. Sounds cool, but the bike will shoot out from under you, and you'll land on your ass. Which, funny as that would be. . . ."

Jake did better on his second try, and they went through a couple of the other guys before it was Edward's turn. His heart like a jack hammer in excitement, he swung his leg over the bike and curled his hands around the grips.

 _This is so fucking cool!_

Even fixed up, the bike was a relic, but it was a motorcycle. Sam made him go through where everything was, and he didn't even care that it was Sam.

"Right, then. Start her up, nice and slow."

Gripping the clutch, Edward put the bike in first gear. His hands were sweating.

"Apply the throttle once or twice to get the feel of it," Sam said.

Both the engine and Edward's heart revved.

"Go for it. Nice and easy."

Edward eased up on the clutch, careful to release it slowly. His breath caught the moment he felt it engage, and in that same second, the bike started to roll.

"Go ahead and coast a bit," Sam said. "Okay, give it a little gas. Slowly."

Just as cautiously, Edward rolled the throttle. The engine got louder, and the bike moved faster, Edward's breathing speeding up right along with it.

This was so fucking cool! He was breathing like he'd just finished a long, hard run. He was doing it—he was riding a motorcycle.

In a straight line, on what was essentially a closed course, at maybe twenty miles an hour tops, but he was riding a motorcycle.

After his turn, Edward went up to Jake. "That was awesome," he said. "You are the fucking man!" Pumped, he looked back at the bike and pushed his sleeves up.

Jake grabbed his arm. "What the fuck is that?"

In his excitement, Edward had forgotten himself and exposed the bruise around his wrist. It had changed from a livid purple to a sickly looking mottle of yellow, green, and brown. He tried to pull his arm away, but Jake's grip was too strong.

"What's wrong with you? Let go of me!"

"What is that?"

"It's called a bruise. God, what's wrong with you?"

The rest of the guys had crowded around them, and Edward found himself surrounded by a bunch of guys the size of redwoods, all suddenly looking ready to kill someone.

Sam took his arm and studied the bruise like a scientist examining the results of an experiment that had been an utter failure. "How'd you get this?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"You know God damned well how he got it!" Jake yelled, exploding furiously. "That fucking leech! Dammit, Sam! I told you! I fucking told you to let me tell him that—"

His words were choked off, and his jaw clenched shut. The look in his eyes made Edward want to take a step back. Sam's grip on his arm loosened, and Edward yanked it away, tugging his sleeve down. He'd never seen his friend like this. Jake was so wildly livid, he was trembling. Worried, Edward reached out to him.

"Jake—calm down, man."

Sam held his hand out between Edward and Jake in warning, but his eyes stayed on Jake.

He told Edward to stay back. To Jake, he said, "He's right. That's enough. You need to calm down, now."

"Are you fucking happy now?" Jake asked, stepping closer to Sam until they were nose to nose. Half the guys stood behind him, half behind Sam. "Or does that fucking creature need to rip his arm off before you'll let me tell him the truth?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Edward asked.

Jake was incensed. The rest of the guys were nearly as bad, all but Sam. His anger was just as palpable but under tighter control. Edward had no idea what Jake was talking about, but he'd had about enough. He was in the middle of a group of guys who all looked ready to kill someone, and he wanted no part of it.

"Jacob, calm down," Sam ordered, his eyes stern and his voice commanding.

"Fuck calm down," Jake spat. "You gonna wait till that thing kills him or what?"

Paul hit Sam's shoulder and snarled in the direction of the woods.

"It's on our land," he said, growling the words out.

Like one, every Quileute turned toward the woods, their nostrils flaring.

Edward felt the first real spark of fear. Whatever the hell was going on, he was stuck in the middle of it. He took a step back.

Paul turned on him. "You brought it here. You brought that thing onto our land. It's coming for you."

"Leave him out of this," Jake said in a low voice. "It's not his fault. If Sam had let me tell him what that thing is—"

"That's enough," Sam said, cutting him off.

"No," Edward said, adrenalin kicking in and his own anger rising. Whatever their problem was, he was sick of it, sick of being talked about like he wasn't there. "Tell me what?"

"The truth about that no good, bloodsucking bitch you're so fucking crazy about," Jake spat.

Edward saw red. His hand clenched, and without a second thought, he cocked his arm and swung.

He heard the bones in his fingers crack one second before the pain hit. "Jesus, fuck!" he swore, cradling his broken hand to his chest. It was as if he'd punched solid steel.

An animal growled, and Edward's blood froze. It was the same animal he'd heard in the woods with Grace, and it had sounded like it was right there in the middle of the street with them.

"Paul," Sam said warningly, worriedly.

Edward looked at Paul just in time to see him twist and contort his body in a way no one should be able to do.

"Paul!"

"Edward, get behind me," Jake said, moving in front of him as if Edward hadn't just punched him square in the jaw and broken his hand in the process.

Paul's body curled forward as his chest and shoulders heaved. Suddenly, he bent double and let out an awful animal-like growl. Edward stared, gaping in disbelief as, bending backwards, Paul convulsed in front of him, leaping into the air and throwing his head back. Edward was petrified, unable to either run or scream and unable to look away as in front of his incredulous eyes, Paul dove forward and his body exploded into an enormous creature, scraps of clothing falling to the ground. What he was seeing couldn't be real. What landed on the pavement wasn't Paul; it was a massive animal, a wolf, the size of a Clydesdale, with paws Edward knew would be as big as dinner plates if anyone were stupid enough to get close enough to the beast to measure them.

He hadn't realized all sound apart from the enormous wolf in front of him had stopped until it returned with the force of a hundred bass drums. People were yelling, but he didn't have the sense to understand what they were saying. Jake was in front of him still, between him and the creature, one hand back toward Edward and one stretched out to the monster.

The wolf's body was crouched; its fur bristled. Edward's paralysis broke, and he jumped backwards, tripping and falling over his own two feet. Scrambling back up, he bolted, sprinting for the fastest way out of there—the motorcycle. He hopped on and started it, looking back over his shoulder as he released the clutch. By some miracle, he didn't stall it out. The guys were split: Jake sticking to the massive creature like glue and yelling at it to back off, the rest glaring into the woods, pushing and shoving each other angrily and shouting about something being on their land while seemingly oblivious to the monster in front of them. Sam tried to get them under control.

Edward's first time on the bike, he'd barely moved, but this time, he pushed it for speed. The bike wobbled, but abject terror was a powerful thing. They were only half a mile passed the marina. If he could make it that far, there would be people around. If he could make it that far, he'd be safe. He pushed the bike harder and, strengthened by adrenaline and sheer terror, he kept it vertical until a car turned onto road in front of him in his lane. Instinctively, he swerved and slammed his foot down onto the brake. The back tire locked, and he lost control. He went down, hitting the ground hard, the air knocked out of him. The bike came down on top of him, and he and the bike skidded across the pavement and into a ditch alongside the road.

Jake was at his side in a second, grabbing the bike off of him and tossing it aside.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Are you okay? "

Tires screeched, and a door slammed.

Edward couldn't answer. His eyes went between Jake and the massive creature a couple of football fields away. None of this was real. It couldn't be real. Edward blinked against the bright sunlight. He felt confused, foggy, and his ears rang. More guys burst into wolves like Paul had. There were three of the creatures now. He scrambled backward on his broken hand.

Leah ran up to them, yelling his name, and dropped to her knees, completely ignoring the pack of horse sized wolves, growling and snarling. Her hands were on his shoulders, trying to hold him still.

"It's alright," she said. "It's alright."

He tried to get up. He had to get out of there. But she was too strong. She held him down. He was trapped.

"What are you doing here?" Jake asked angrily.

Leah ignored the question, instead swearing about stupid men and their stupid ideas.

"Charlie'll have your hide."

"This wasn't my idea!"

"Edward, stay still," she said as he struggled against her. "Oh, God. Look at him. He needs to go to the hospital."

The hospital? What was wrong with him? Edward looked at himself, and his breath came shallow and rapid as the pain he hadn't felt yet hit him. All along his left side, his clothes were shredded, held together by a few ragged scraps here and there, and he was one long, open wound, caked with dirt and gravel, from his shoulder to his foot.

"Edward—Edward, breath. Breath," Leah said. She looked across the road. "We have to get him out of here before it gets here."

" _They_ —and there's no time."

"They?" Leah asked, fear in her voice for the first time.

"They?" Edward asked. "They _what_?"

Before anyone could answer, the wolves charged at the trees across the road. The creatures were going crazy, growling and snapping as they clawed at the trees.

Edward inched himself back, away from the enormous animals. He didn't know what they were snarling at. There was nothing there that he could see. He didn't want to know, didn't want to see. " _It's coming for you,_ " Paul had said.

"Stay with him," Jake said before crossing the street and standing next to Sam. They stood on the edge of the road, three massive wolves almost knocking down fully grown trees just feet in front of them.

"Leah— _what_. . . ."

"I'm sorry, Edward. Jake wanted to tell you. He really did. He and Sam have been fighting over it since they came back."

 _Tell me what? Since who came back?_

Suddenly, something came speeding through the treetops like a scene out of a Tarzan movie. It moved like a cannonball, barreling through the woods, branches crashing to the ground behind it. It was closing fast. It looked—

It looked human.

Female.

It looked—

She burst out of the trees and sailed over the leaping wolves, well out of the reach of their inches-long claws, and Edward's heart seized inside him.

"GRACE!" he screamed, clambering desperately to his feet. His head throbbed. He tried to push passed Leah, but she couldn't be budged.

For one awful second as Grace landed in the middle of the road, time seemed to stop. She'd fallen a good thirty feet, but she landed mid stride as easily as if she'd only taken a step.

And she sparkled. Anywhere the sun touched her skin, she shimmered.

Time resumed as two of the wolves attacked at once, leaping at her from either side. Edward dodged around Leah, screaming Grace's name again. Those monsters were going to kill her. He had to get to her. Leah grabbed hold of him, and he tried to shake her off.

"Let go of me! Grace!"

The creatures were impossibly fast, but Grace was faster. Edward's eyes could barely follow the movement as Grace jumped into the air and flipped backward, out of their reach. The two wolves collided in the space where she had been a fraction of a second earlier.

The moment she hit the ground the third wolf lunged, its massive mouth opened, exposing dagger-like teeth. Edward watched helplessly, his gut twisting, but Grace spun and kicked her leg out like Bruce Lee and caught the creature in the neck, sending it hurtling into the trees on the other side of the road. Edward felt dizzy, and stars flashed along the edges of his vision.

She sprinted toward him, making for Leah, her face so filled with fury she was almost unrecognizable. If she could do what she'd just done to those monsters, what could she do to Leah?

"Grace, no!"

He broke free from Leah and rushed toward Grace. He reached for her, both hands closing around her face. Sunlight reflected off her skin as his eyes raked over her, searching for any sign she was hurt.

"Get away from him!" Jake shouted, storming toward them.

"You have no right to be here," Sam said. He was flanked on either side by Scott and Mark, the three surrounded by the rest of the guys. "The treaty forbids it."

Grace ignored them. "You're hurt," she said, her voice shuddering. She trembled as she took in his injuries—his hand, the road rash all along his side. She touched his temple, and he saw blood on her fingertips when she pulled her hand away. That explained why his head felt ready to explode. Her lips quivered as her fingers traced the bruise around his wrist. She closed her hand over it, and it matched perfectly. "Oh, God. I did this," she said, sounding close to tears.

"The treaty—"

Her face contorted into a snarl as Sam spoke, and she positioned herself protectively between Edward and the creatures.

"Don't flatter yourself, mongrel. Your precious treaty was never anything more than our placating a group of self-important mutts whose overinflated egos would otherwise have gotten them killed."

"Grace, what. . . ?"

Edward didn't even know what he wanted to ask. He couldn't think straight. What—how—what? His brain couldn't keep up, and he hurt everywhere. He wanted to sit down, to lie down. He felt so tired.

"The conditions which led to the treaty in the first place still exist," said a new voice.

Wolves growled, and Jake, Sam, and the others glared in the direction of the newcomer. Tanya was exiting the woods, calm as anything as she stepped out onto the road and the sun lit up her skin just as it did Grace's. Edward squinted.

"Hello, Edward," she said. Then, addressing Sam, she said, "We still outnumber you, and we still do not wish to harm you."

"Speak for yourself," Grace said, low and menacing.

"A car is coming," Tanya said.

There was no car that Edward could see.

"This is neither the time nor the place," Tanya said. "Edward needs to be taken to his father, and he needs to be seen by a doctor."

Yeah, that was it. He needed to see a doctor. He'd wiped out on a motorcycle and cracked his skull open. Of course. That explained it. He was hallucinating. Or unconscious and dreaming.

"He is coming with two other men, tribal elders," Grace said to Tanya. Six-foot tall wolves didn't faze either one of them, but both looked truly afraid of his father. "They'll be here any moment."

Fuck— _his father_! He'd crashed on a motorcycle. His father was going to kill him. . . .

A car turned onto the road. It sped toward them.

Edward felt sick. "Grace, I. . . ." His vision went blurry.

He heard both Grace and Jake shout his name.

He heard tires screech for a second time and car doors slammed.

His father's voice, so worried. . . .

Everything went dark.

~.~ ~.~

* * *

THE END

Kidding! Just kidding! There are two chapter left, but the sparkle is out of the shadow now! I hope you all liked the big Sparkle and Fur scene! Drop me a review and let me know. The next chapter will post in two weeks. Teasers a couple of days before on Facebook groups Twilight FanFiction Pays it Forward, The Twilight Fan Fiction Finders, Tufano79 Twilight Fanfiction Appreciation..., Twilight FanFiction Recommendations II, The No Rules Twilight fan fic Recs Club. BUT, reviewers get a sneak peek at the the sneak peek!

Huge thanks again to everyone who voted for SfS on the Twific Fan Awards!


	19. Chapter 19

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic and who voted for SfS in the Twific Fan Awards!

This story is set in 2012.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years -_ of support and encouragement and to Patricia for all her help and advice.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

~.~

* * *

~.~

 _Chapter 19_

~.~

Edward felt muddled, confused. His head hurt like a bastard. For that matter, everywhere hurt. But his head worst of all. And yesterday was foggy. He'd had the most bizarre nightmare last night, and his scrambled brain was mixing it up with being out at the rez yesterday, confusing reality and nightmare. Or maybe he was still asleep and dreaming. He felt foggy, disconnected from reality somehow, but the pain was live and in color. One for the awake column. He touched the left side of his forehead and flinched. Bandaged there, too. His left side was all bandaged up, shoulder to foot, and he had two fingers in splints.

What the hell had he done to himself?

Jake had fixed up the bikes. He thought. And they'd been going to ride them. Or was that part of the nightmare? He couldn't remember, and it was very disconcerting that he couldn't. He'd dreamed he was riding a motorcycle, but then wolves the size of a pickup had started chasing him. Jake had been in the dream. And Grace. And there had been disco balls. Weirdest nightmare he'd ever had.

~.~

In the kitchen, Charlie busied himself making bacon and eggs. The first thing he'd done was close the curtain, but the skin on the back of his neck prickled nonetheless, like those creatures were out there, still able to see him through the window. He slammed the pan down on the burner. Billy and Harry had been right. Those creatures had been messing with his mind, and stupid as he was, he'd fallen for it. A pretty face, a little kindness, and he'd fallen for her tricks hook, line, and sinker. They'd been in cahoots. All of them. And they'd been after his son. All the attention that one had paid to him, all the stories they'd told him, all of it designed to knock him off his guard.

Well, that was over. He'd told them what he thought of them and that he wanted them to stay the hell away from his son and from him. That one, _Tanya_ , had had the nerve to act devastated, clinging to that girl like she couldn't stand on her own.

Charlie pressed his fingers against his eyes. He was so tired. He'd gotten almost no sleep last night, and neither, he knew, had Edward. Charlie'd checked on him throughout the night, and he'd been either awake or restless in his sleep. God, that poor kid. What he must be feeling. He must be crushed to have learned the truth about that girl.

 _The truth about that girl—_

Charlie buckled over, gripping the edge of the counter. He forced himself to breath slow, deep breaths as he cursed himself and called himself every kind of stupid.

He'd let himself be lured into a false sense of security, convincing himself that if they were going to do anything, they'd have done it long ago. His throat burned, and he felt sick. The truth was, he'd wanted to believe it. All it had taken was a little attention from that one, and all his common sense had gone to hell.

" _You ever wonder why they've circled around Edward? They're like damn vultures, they way they look at him. They're biding their time, Charlie. It's him they want. They're after Edward. For that girl. They want to make him like them._

Thank God for Billy and Harry. He hadn't seen the scheming of those creatures for what it was, but his friends had, and they'd acted, getting them onto the reservation yesterday. The day of the shooting should have told him the truth. That girl, going so completely against her nature that day, he should've realized she had to have had a reason.

She'd wanted his son, to make him like her.

Charlie swallowed back the nausea he felt.

Edward was safe from her now.

~.~

He'd punched Jake. He thought. Edward looked at his bruised and broken fingers. They throbbed with a dull pain. Granted, he and Jake hadn't been exactly on good terms lately, but to actually punch him? Why would he do that? And what did leeches have to do with anything? He was sure there had been something about leeches in his nightmare. Why the hell would he dream about leeches?

Footsteps came down the hall, and there was a knock on his door. Edward closed his eyes.

"I know you're awake," his father said as he came in and sat on the edge of the bed. "You've never slept flat on your back in your life."

Edward opened his eyes and eased himself up. It hurt to lie still. It hurt worse to move.

"Eat this," his father said, handing him a plate.

His father was letting him eat in his room? Just how badly had he messed himself up?

"And take these." His father handed him three pills and a glass of water. "Antibiotics and for pain."

"What happened?" he asked after he'd swallowed the pills. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, and his father didn't look in any rush to give one.

"How much do you remember?"

Edward shook his head and quickly learned that was a mistake.

His father exhaled tiredly and leaned forward, the elbow of his good arm on his knee.

"You have a mild concussion. And some moderately severe road rash. And two broken fingers."

A concussion. And road rash. Oh God. Jake really had fixed up the bikes. And he'd wiped out on one.

"Dad, I. . . ."

He didn't understand. Why hadn't he been wearing a helmet? He tried to remember, but it was hard to think with his head hurting, hard to keep his train of thought. It was unsettling, not being able to remember clearly. They'd gone to the rez. That much, he was sure about. Jake had come and gotten him. Okay. And, yes, Jake had finished the bikes. Both of them. All the guys from the rez had been there. Including Sam, and a couple of guys Sam's age. _Think. What did we do?_

"We went down to River Road, passed the marina," he said after a moment. "Jake was ticked off about something."

His father nodded encouragingly.

"Dad, I'm really sorry. I don't . . . We had helmets." Edward remembered riding now. He remembered wearing a helmet.

"That doesn't matter now. Eat."

Edward took a couple of bites. It didn't matter that he'd ridden a motorcycle without a helmet and smashed it?

"How much else do you remember, before or after?"

"I don't—It's all so jumbled. I had the weirdest nightmare last night. My head is all mixed up, like my brain still thinks it was real."

"What did you dream about?"

"Stupid stuff. Crazy stuff. Like, wolves the size of my truck and disco balls. And leeches."

His father looked displeased, but not surprised. He looked expectant, like he was waiting for more.

"Grace was there," Edward said. "I think she fell out of a tree."

Grace. He should call her. Let her know he was okay. Did she know he'd gotten into an accident? What about Jake?

"I think I punched Jake."

"Square in the jaw."

"Why did I do that?"

Disco balls. Leeches. Jake had insulted the disco ball, called it a leech. Grace, falling out of tree. No, she hadn't fallen. She'd jumped. And there were no disco balls. Grace was the disco ball. She'd sparkled. Jake had insulted Grace, called her a leech.

Yeah, he'd messed his head up real good.

"Don't worry about it. The doctor said you might not remember much from right before or after the crash."

Edward took a bite. Right. He remembered that. He didn't remember going to the hospital, but he remembered being in the emergency room. He remembered things sporadically, fragments, nothing in a steady stream. The doctor had said he was seeing too much of the two of them.

"Finish eating. Rest. Dr. Murchison said you need to take it easy for a while."

Edward also remembered—

"That means no running for at least a week," his father said sympathetically.

"A week! That's not fair! I—"

"Fair has nothing to do with it. You injured your brain. No running for at least a week. And no driving, at least for today. We'll have to play school tomorrow by ear and see how you feel."

"Dad, I have to stick to my training schedule. I can't miss a week. I'll never be ready—"

"Not up for debate. No running for at least a week. Maybe longer."

"Longer!"

His father silenced him with a look that said not to push him, and Edward deflated. Dejected, he pushed his eggs around the plate before taking another bite. A whole week off training this close to the race. He'd end up crossing the finish line with the walkers.

"Don't worry about it. There's still time." His father patted his leg. "All that matters is that you're safe now. You finish eating and try to get some more sleep. Those pills should help."

 _Safe now?_ When hadn't he been safe? Edward wondered as his father closed the door behind him.

He ate slowly. He needed to straighten out the jumble in his brain, but he couldn't cut through the fog. Giving up, he stood up gingerly. He waited for the room to spin around him and released a breath when it didn't. Now, if his head would just clear.

Leeches and disco balls and giant wolves. Oh, God. . . .

One foot in front of the other, Edward carefully crossed the room and set the empty plate on his dresser. He looked in the mirror. His vision was clear. That was good. He hurt. But it could've been worse.

Gingerly, Edward touched the bandage on his forehead. He'd been wearing a helmet. That was one thing he was sure he remembered. And he remembered riding the bike down the street. He remembered getting off. He hadn't crashed. He'd gotten off and gone up to Jake. Then what had happened? Edward just couldn't remember. That was when everything got tangled up with his nightmare.

~.~

Charlie stood on the deck, glaring into the woods, his good arm braced on the railing. The prickling at the back of his neck at the idea of being watched was long gone, replaced by a burning feeling of defiance. If those creatures were out there, let them see him. Let them watch. They'd set their sights on his son, and they'd lost.

In his hand, Charlie held the misshapen lump of lead that girl had given him.

How far could he chuck it?

~.~

Edward made his way to the kitchen, one hand trailing along the wall, just in case. He put his plate in the sink and saw his father standing on the deck, looking out across the yard. The set of his shoulders was tense. Knowing what he must've put his father through yesterday, Edward felt a strong pang of guilt. He didn't remember wiping out. He had to have ridden a second time, but he couldn't imagine why he wouldn't have worn a helmet.

Wispy white clouds stretched across the blue sky. As Edward looked out the window, his father turned toward the house and saw him looking out. "You should be in bed. You need to rest," he said reproachfully as he came in.

"I will. I just brought my plate out. Dad, I'm really sorry."

Choking up, his father cleared his throat. He took the plate from the sink and put it in the dishwasher.

"You're safe now," he said, gripping Edward's shoulder. "That's all that matters."

~.~

Edward lay back down. He was safe _now_. That was the second time his father had said that. What did that mean? When hadn't he been safe before?

He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, but there wasn't one. Why would he have ridden without a helmet? Well, he wouldn't again. That was for damned sure. It surprised him his father wasn't more upset, but Edward figured it would come. His last thought before he drifted off was that he'd probably be grounded until he graduated.

~.~

It was the day of the marathon. All around him, people stretched their muscles. The air hummed with electricity. People talked excitedly and laughed as they compared race stories. Others were quiet, their expressions serious, concentrating on their strategy and goals. He remembered that feeling, but he couldn't share it. He wasn't ready. He hadn't trained. He'd never finish. He couldn't do this.

Jake made his way through the crowd. He was eight feet tall, and his hands and feet were paws. He carried a helmet under his arm, and he plunked it down on Edward's head, slapping the top of it and making Edward's knees buckle. No one noticed him.

"Remember," Jake said.

"Edward!" Grace called. She stepped through the crowd, her skin glistening like the surface of water rippling in the sunlight. No one noticed her either.

The talking around him stopped. Jake and Grace were gone. He looked around. All the other runners were gone, and in their place were massive wolves.

Edward awoke with a jolt.

"Okay?" his father asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah. Just—just a bad dream."

"I came to check on you. You've been asleep a long time."

Rubbing his eyes, Edward asked, "Time is it?"

"After five."

"Five?" He'd slept most of the day.

"You needed it. How do you feel?" his father asked.

Edward thought about it. He _could_ think about it; he could think straighter. That was an improvement. His head didn't hurt as much. His side, his fingers, there was less pain there too. "Better, I think."

"Hungry?"

He thought about that too. "Yeah," he said, his voice rough and gravelly from sleep.

"Come on. Come get something to eat."

"I'll be right out."

His father nodded and left. Edward got up and stretched as much as his bandaged left side would allow. He checked his phone. He had a few group texts but nothing from Grace or Jake.

In the kitchen, he swallowed more pills as his father put a plate of lasagna in front of him. He awkwardly sliced into it with his fork. Using his left hand was stranger than he'd expected.

"Mhmm," his father said, seeming to know what thought had passed through his head.

He'd been eating lasagna the first time he'd met Grace, too, that first night at Pacific Pizza. Not even remembering dropping a forkful of food on himself in front of her dented the memory.

His father commented on his sudden smile.

"'S nothing."

But Grace had been upset that night. About what? he wondered now. He'd never thought to ask. The next day when they'd seen each other again, she'd seemed so happy, he'd never thought about it again. But she hadn't just been upset, she'd been afraid. What had she been afraid of?

"Okay?" his father asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Fine."

"Billy n' Jake have been calling all day. Called the house phone. Didn't want to call your phone and wake you."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," Edward said absently.

Jake. He'd punched _Jake_.

He asked his father why.

"Don't worry about it. Doesn't matter anymore. That's all settled now."

"Oh, um, okay."

The accident, Edward supposed.

He ate. And thought.

Jake had insulted Grace. That was why Edward had punched him. He couldn't remember what Jake had actually called her—not leech, obviously. That'd be stupid. Where had that even come from?

He knew where the wolves came from, though. He had pictures on his phone of paw prints at least eight inches across, maybe more.

He continued to eat, but mechanically, not tasting his food. Finished, he pushed his plate away.

"I—um, I'm going to go lie down."

He stood quickly and bolted from the room. Feeling flush, he turned in to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He'd dreamed about whatever animal had growled at him and Grace that day.

And Jake calling Grace a leech.

But the animal was real. He had pictures of its paw prints on his phone.

There was a knock at the door.

"Okay?" his father asked.

"Um, yeah." Edward ran the water. "Brushing my teeth," he said. "Gonna take a shower."

"There're clean gauze pads in the medicine cabinet. And there's antibiotic ointment to put on the wounds. Think you can manage?"

"Um, yeah."

He sat on the edge of the tub. He'd had his fair share of nightmares before, but they faded away with the light of day, dissolved until he couldn't remember enough to laugh at in the morning. These nightmares were different. Rather than slipping away, they grew more solid. He remembered more detail. And he didn't fell like laughing.

Irritated with himself for letting a couple of bad dreams rattle him, Edward stood up and peeled his clothes off. Gently, he pulled off his dressings. This was the first time he had gotten a good look at what he'd done to himself, and he winced at the sight of his left side. He looked like someone had taken a giant cheese grater to him. He must've skimmed across the road like a pebble on a lake.

What had he done to the bike, he wondered.

He adjusted the water and got in, hissing at the sting of the water on his wounds.

Jake had insulted Grace, and Edward had punched him. His father had said everything was okay there, but Edward wasn't so sure. Maybe on Jake's part, but not on his.

What had started it? And why did leeches keep coming into his head? He felt like he was thinking in circles—every time he tried to remember, he came back around to leeches.

Twice he'd dreamed of the same themes—giant wolves, and Grace, sparkling in the sunlight. The wolves were real, but he'd never dreamed about them before. Or, maybe he had and just didn't remember. Grace sparkling was his subconscious mind's way of including her photosensitivity, he supposed.

What would happen if she really did get caught outside in the sunlight? Would she burn, like, super fast? Or was it more like someone allergic to peanuts or bee stings? He'd have to ask her. That was something he really should know. If they were out somewhere and the weather changed unexpectedly, the clouds broke and the sun came out, would he have any time to get her to shelter, or was whatever happened immediate? Did she carry an EpiPen?

Edward finished quickly and got out. He toweled off gently and applied the ointment before putting new dressings on his cuts.

In his room, he pulled on track pants and a thermal shirt.

But, he suddenly remembered, Grace had been caught out in the sunlight one time—the day of the robbery.

Or had she? She'd been all bundled up with her raincoat pulled tight around herself and her hood up, like she'd been prepared for it. She'd even had her hair hanging around her face to shield her.

She'd rushed in and grabbed his wrist, her grip tight enough to leave a bruise. And she'd pulled him hard enough that he'd stumbled forward and had to grab hold of the counter to stay on his feet.

" _We have to go,"_ she'd said. _"Now."_

He remembered, she'd looked wild, desperate to get away—to get him away.

" _It's too late,"_ she'd said. _"It's too late."_

He remembered the fear in her voice.

She'd taken his wrist again, pulled him away from the door, but he had resisted.

" _Grace. No. What on earth—?"_

 _"We have to hide,"_ she'd said. _"The bathroom—"_

It had only been seconds later that the car had pulled up in front of the store.

 _It was like she'd known they were coming._

Edward laughed at himself—like she'd known they were about to be robbed, like she was psychic or something.

He was letting his imagination run away with him. His nightmares—his mind couldn't leave them alone. He was being ridiculous. Even that day in the woods, there had to be some logical explanation. What was wrong with him? Giant wolves . . . Someone screwing around—playing some stupid joke, like leaving faked Big Foot clues. Some idiot with a recording of an animal growling and making huge paw prints in the woods with a plywood cutout, and he'd fallen for it.

Edward saw the mottled yellow, green, and brown around his wrist, and it jolted his memory.

The bruise—that was what had started it yesterday, why Jake had insulted Grace. He'd seen the bruise when Edward had pushed up his sleeves, and he'd flipped out. He'd accused Grace, like she was some kind of abusive girlfriend or something. How he'd known it had been her or where leech—of all things to call someone—had come from, Edward had no idea.

After that, his nightmare blurred with reality. Jake—yelling about something ripping his arm off, and it being Sam's fault. He'd dreamed that Jake's hands and feet were paws—like he was transforming into a giant wolf.

Paul had said that something had been on their land—that it had come for him, for Edward, that Edward had brought it there.

Jake had called Grace a bloodsucking bitch.

And Edward had punched him. Edward looked at his hand. He remembered the sound of the bones in his fingers snapping.

Paul.

It hadn't been Jake who'd turned into a wolf. It had been Paul.

Edward squeezed his eyes shut. He was cracking up. What the fuck was in those pills?

He couldn't tell what was dream and what was real. He could see Paul exploding into a horse-sized wolf as if it had really happened, like he was some sort of werewolf or something, his body twisting and convulsing, scrapes of torn clothing fluttering to the ground. And he could hear the sound the enormous creature had made, feel it vibrating in his bones.

If Paul was a werewolf, Edward guessed that would make Grace a vampire. Werewolves and vampires were mortal enemies—anyone who'd ever watched a monster movie knew that.

Yeah, there was something in those pills.

His girlfriend—a vampire.

Well, she couldn't go out in the sun, so that fit.

And she did sometimes speak like a character out of a historical novel. And her best friends growing up had been named Sybil and Gertrude. Definitely out of date names.

He rolled his eyes, but that had made him think. Sybbie and Trudy. Grace had lost touch with her old friends, but when she talked about them, he could see how much she missed them. He hadn't been able to find them on social media when he'd tried. Maybe . . . He sat at his desk and moved his books to the side to make room. He opened his laptop.

His fingers twitched above the keyboard—what had she said the name of her old school was? It was a small, private, all-girl school. He pictured her on the couch downstairs. She'd rocked back and raised her face upward.

"Miss Leonard's School for Girls," she'd said.

Edward typed it in and hit Enter.

As he scanned the results, his eyebrows drew together.

He positioned the cursor over the first link, but he hesitated, his finger hovering over the mouse pad a moment before he clicked on it.

What he read didn't make any sense.

He clicked the back arrow and returned to the search results page, opening site after site. All read the same.

He closed the laptop and looked out the window.

Miss Leonard's School for Girls had closed in 1933.

He had to have remembered the name of the school wrong. No, he was sure that was it.

Two schools by the same name? Both in Chicago. And, for some reason, the only one of the two that he could find was the one that had closed almost eighty years ago?

This was ridiculous. First, he couldn't find Grace's old friends. Now, couldn't find her old school.

Edward tapped his finger on his desk. Then he typed in Grace's birth name.

It took a moment for the screen to load, and impatient, his finger resumed its tapping.

A half dozen links appeared, but not what he'd expected. There was no Facebook or Twitter, no honor roll lists, no field hockey scores. Rather, what he had in front of him were links to pages on the Women's Suffrage movement a hundred years ago and the American Red Cross helping wounded WW1 soldiers.

Extracts from the webpages appeared beneath each link, and Grace's name was in each one, sometimes preceded by "the Honorable," with a capital H, and once by "Lady," with a capital L.

What the hell did that mean?

" _T_ _he Dishonorable Miss Masen, she would call me."_

" _She did not appreciate my pointing out I wasn't a lady at all, merely an honorable."_

Edward didn't understand.

He had his history book home with him, and he grabbed it and flipped through the pages to the chapter they'd started after Easter.

Looking back to his laptop, Edward clicked on _Images_ at the top of the screen, and a number of random pictures appeared. Row after row of unknown faces, but hidden among them was a black and white image of one he did know. He clicked on it, opening it larger. The photograph was of a girl in a dark, long sleeved dress, a white armband, cap, and apron. Both the armband and apron bore a large, bold cross. Her hair was worn up, and she stood beside the bed of a man missing a leg. She held a book in her hands and smiled down at the man, who looked up at her like she was an apparition.

Edward knew the feeling. The girl in the picture looked exactly like Grace.

The picture in his history book was small, but this picture was much larger, the details more easily distinguished. No family relation short of twins could explain the resemblance. This girl and his Grace were all but identical. His Grace's features were a little sharper, whereas those of the girl in the pictures were a little softer, subtler, but those features were the same.

Beside the photograph was a link to a webpage, and he clicked on it. What opened was a nearly century old article from the Chicago Daily News about high society women volunteering with the American Red Cross to care for wounded soldiers returned from the front lines in France. Beneath the photograph was a caption too small to read until he zoomed in on it.

" _The Honorable Miss Grace Isabella Masen, granddaughter of the Eighth Duke of Shrewsbury, caring for an injured man."_

Edward closed his eyes and exhaled.

" _The Dishonorable Miss Masen, she would call me."_

" _I'd have been expelled multiple times, I'm sure, had I been almost anyone else."_

He picked up his history book and read the caption beneath the photograph.

" _Mabel Vernon speaking at a Women's Suffrage Rally, 1916."_

In a new window, Edward typed the caption in and hit enter. The results opened slowly, and he strummed his fingers impatiently on his desk. This search returned more results, thousands of them, and he scanned the lines beneath each link on his screen before clicking on _Images_ again. The screen filled with black and white photographs of women in elaborate Victorian and turn of the century clothes, marching in parades or posing in small groups, several carrying banners and wearing striped sashes. In one picture, a group of women and young girls sat in an open car waving flags and holding signs reading "Votes for US." Edward took in all the pictures. There were a number from the same rally as in his book taken from different angles or at different times. One photograph had been taken from a closer vantage point, and he clicked on it. The caption read:

" _Lady Edward Masen introducing Mabel Vernon, May 1916"_

Trying to make sense of things that made no sense, Edward's eyes drifted nearly blindly over the faces of the pictured crowd until one face caught his eye, making him sit up straighter. Among the onlookers was a fair-haired man who looked uncannily like Grace's adoptive father.

Edward slouched and rubbed his eyes. He really had to get a grip on his imagination. He was seeing Grace's family's faces everywhere now.

A memory came to him, and he lowered his hand and stared at his desk. It was his nightmare coming back to him—Grace jumping from a tree, two enormous wolves leaping at her.

He could feel his body tense, his heart skip a beat. Those monsters were going to kill her, he remembered thinking.

He remembered fighting to get to his feet. He remembered that, like a gymnast, she'd twisted out of their reach, leaving the two massive beasts to crash into each other.

A third wolf had lunged at her, but she'd pulled some kind of martial arts move and kicked the thing in the neck, sending it flying.

Jake, shouting at her that she had no right to be there, some treaty or something forbidding it.

She'd ignored him.

" _You're hurt. . . ."_

" _I did this. . . ."_

Edward covered his mouth with his hand.

He wasn't remembering his nightmare.

He was remembering yesterday.

He was remembering things that couldn't possibly have happened, but had.

He went back to the image of Grace standing next to the wounded man's bed.

" _. . . when were you born, like, 1850?"_

" _1901."_

Things Grace had said to him that first day came back to him.

She'd said there was a lot he didn't know about her, but she'd promised to tell him.

" _I only ask that you get to know me first, that you see me for how I am in the things that I can control, before you see those that I cannot."_

She'd admitted she'd done things she was ashamed of, but she'd sworn to him that no matter what anyone else told him. . . .

" _. . .no innocent person has ever been harmed by my existence."_

He looked back to the girl in the photograph standing next to the injured WW1 soldier.

". . . _granddaughter of the Eighth Duke of Shrewsbury. . . ."_

In a new window, Edward searched for the girl's grandfather.

" _My grandfather lived in England . . . I was thirteen when he died. I remember being excited at getting to travel to Europe but feeling very put out at being made to go into full mourning. . . ."_

The Eighth Duke of Shrewsbury died in 1914.

" _When were you born. . . ?"_

" _1901."_

" _. . . I was thirteen when he died. . . ."_

Edward steepled his hands together, the tips of his index fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose. This was stupid. Grace had only been joking when she'd said that. Just like he'd only been joking when he'd asked.

But it all fit.

The dates, the photographs. So many of the things she'd said to him—her grandmother's Victorian views.

" _I played field hockey—much to the very severe disapproval of my grandmother."_

" _A respectable young lady? Playing sports? Running? Like a boy?"_

It was impossible, but they fit.

Edward drew a shaky breath.

" _. . . no innocent person has ever been harmed by my existence."_

Why had she said something like that? What did that even mean?

She'd warned him that first day that people—people he trusted—wouldn't want him near her, and she'd been right. That very night, just minutes later when he'd gotten home, his father, Billy, and Jake had all said exactly that.

How had she known?

He could see Paul's body twisting, changing, see the enormous wolf that had landed in the middle of the street. He could hear the creature's growls. He remembered Grace, leaping out of the tree, a good three stories off the ground, the wolves going after her, her taking out all three like a heroine in an action movie.

But that was only a nightmare, a dream. His brain was scrambled; he was confusing it with reality.

Edward read the Wikipedia page for the Duke. He'd had three children—two sons, William, who'd succeeded him, a second son, Edward, and a daughter, Isabella, who'd died young. Grace's father's name had been Edward, just like his own. She'd told him that the first day they'd spent together.

He clicked on a link to the Ninth Duke, William. He'd also had two sons, both of whom had died in WW1, leaving his younger brother, Edward, his heir apparent. But Edward had also preceded him in death. Along with his wife and only child, a daughter, he'd died in an influenza pandemic in 1918.

Edward looked at the girl standing beside the injured man, then at the teenage girl with the two women the suffragette rally, and he felt his chest tighten.

" _Then the influenza came. The world was normal one day, but then the next . . . It took my mother first, then my father."_

It all fit.

Edward shook his head. It didn't matter that it fit—it wasn't possible. It just wasn't. Grace had been talking about the H1N1 epidemic a couple of years ago. Not something that had happened nearly a century ago. What was he thinking, that the girl in the pictures was his Grace, like reincarnation or something? He felt like he was trapped inside an episode of the "Twilight Zone."

His eyes were drawn to the picture on his laptop. The girl on his screen had died during an epidemic nearly a hundred years ago. How long after the picture had been taken? he wondered. Looking at her face, his heart felt heavy in his chest.

Edward moved his eyes to the bruise on his wrist. Of course Grace hadn't known the store had been about to be robbed. How could she have? But why had she been so adamant about getting him out? The sun had been in and out all day, why had she risked going outside? Why had she said it was too late just seconds before the car had pulled up? If she hadn't known they were about to be robbed, what had it been too late for?

And how could she have gripped his wrist tightly enough to leave a bruise that had lasted for two weeks?

A knock on the door, and Edward jumped and snapped the laptop closed as his father came into the room.

"Dad," he said breathlessly.

His father looked at him for a long second, an expression of displeasure on his face, and Edward squirmed as if he'd gotten caught on "Girls Gone Wild."

With a heavy sigh, his father sat on the foot of the bed. He looked like someone about to deliver dreaded news

"Billy and Jake are coming over," he said, his words hanging heavily in the air.

"Okay." Striving for casual in spite of his racing mind, he closed his history book. He really didn't want to see Jake. He just wanted to be left alone, to make sense of the craziness in his head.

"There are some things we need to talk to you about." As he'd spoken, his father's eyes had settled on his laptop, then suddenly moved away.

"Um, okay." Edward put his closed book on top of his laptop and ran his good hand down his thigh. His palms were sweaty. "About what?"

"What happened yesterday."

At first, Edward's posture stiffened, but then relaxed. He meant the bikes. Of course his dad and Billy would have something to say about him and Jake taking out a couple of motorcycles. The normalcy of it was almost a relief. He just hadn't expected they'd get it from both their dads together.

"How much . . . " His father made a face like he'd bitten into a lemon. "How much do you remember?"

"I, um. . . ."

His father's eyes returned to the laptop, but he quickly looked away. He rubbed his hands together.

"I know you've been worried about Jake, about how he got so big so fast."

Edward didn't respond. He didn't have room in his brain to think about that right now.

"I know what you've been thinking, that he and a bunch of the other guys are using steroids. It's the same half the town thinks. The same thing I thought when I was your age." His father scratched the back of his head.

Edward stood up and crossed the room. He stood at his dresser and fidgeted, tucking in a shirt sticking out from the corner of a drawer.

His father sighed.

"I feel sorry for Billy's father now. This is a hell of a lot harder than it looked when I was in your place."

In the reflection in the mirror, Edward saw his father looking at him. He hadn't seen his father look that uncomfortable since he'd sat him down for the sex talk years ago. Edward looked away.

"Jake's been pushing Sam to let him tell you everything."

That Jake needed Sam's permission to take a piss was Edward's first thought, but it was soon replaced by something else—the memory of Jake and Sam yesterday, standing nose to nose, glaring at each other.

 _Are you fucking happy now? Or does that fucking creature need to rip his arm off before you'll let me tell him the truth?"_

Grace, looking at him horrified, closing her hand around his wrist.

" _Oh, God. I did this."_

Edward had covered the bruise on his wrist with his hand.

Jake had been all up in Sam's face.

" _Fuck calm down. You gonna wait till that thing kills him or what?"_

He'd been talking about Grace.

"Some of the guys out on the rez," his father said, "Billy and Jake. Harry and Seth. Some of the others. They're, different, than you and me,"

"Different?" Edward asked in a voice he didn't recognize as his own.

His ears rang with the growls of three impossibly monstrous wolves. Inside his head, Paul snarled at him. _"You brought it here. You brought that thing onto our land. It's coming for you."_ Paul, doubling over, his shoulders heaving, his nostrils flaring, throwing his head back, exploding into a wolf the size of a horse.

Grace, jumping out a tree thirty feet off the ground. Two wolves lunging at her—Paul and who else?

"After what happened yesterday, the boys and the Tribal Council had a meeting, and Jake and Billy got the okay to bring you into the loop. They can explain everything better than I can."

Edward shuddered. He didn't want to hear this. It was making him think crazy things.

Things like hundred-year-old pictures of his seventeen-year-old girlfriend. Things like his best friend, Jake, who he'd known all his life, turning into a fucking massive wolf.

"There are things in the world that you don't know about, that you need to," his father said.

"No," Edward said. He fled the room and down the hall.

"Edward!"

His father followed him through the house. "How much do you remember?"

"Why do you keep asking me that? I told you. I don't remember anything."

"That's not true. I think you do remember."

"Well, I don't. I don't remember anything. So, stop asking me."

"You're white as a sheet. You look just like I must've when I was your age and saw my best friend—"

"Saw your best friend, what? Turn into huge fucking dog?"

Edward breathed heavily. There it was. The words were out there, and they couldn't be taken back. His father and he stared at each other, tense and rigid, until his father's body sagged like a puppet whose strings had been cut, and he looked away. He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah."

A bubble of hysterical laughter threatened to burst out of Edward. He kept his jaw clamped tight against it until it drained away. His strength drained along with it, and blindly, he reached for a chair.

Jake, his best friend all of his life, turned into an enormous wolf.

What did that make Grace?

"Leech," Jake had called her. "Bloodsucker."

"Edward—"

"No." Finding his second wind, Edward sprang to his feet and ran down the stairs. He sat on the couch with his head in his hands. Jake was just a normal guy. Grace—Grace was just a normal girl, a normal seventeen-year-old girl. She didn't sparkle in the sun like thousands of Christmas lights. She couldn't fight off three wild animals the size of mini vans. And those were not her photographs.

"Edward," his father said again, gripping his shoulder tightly. "The tribe call them—Billy and Jacob and the others—the Protectors. They protect people."

"I'm not listening to this."

Edward jumped to his feet, but his father followed him back to his room.

"This is insane," Edward said. "It isn't real."

"I wish it wasn't. But it is. That girl—"

"Leave Grace out of it. She had nothing to do with Jake—" Unable to finish his sentence, Edward gestured wildly with his arm.

"Her, her kind, they have everything to do with it. They're reason for it. They're what the pack protect people from."

Edward sat on his bed with his back to his father.

" _When were you born. . . ?"_

" _1901."_

His father sighed. "Believe me. I know it sounds nuts. Billy 'n Jake, they'll be here soon. They can explain better than me. I'll just, I'll just leave you alone till they get here. I know it's a lot to swallow." His father squeezed his shoulder again. "Edward, I'm sorry. I know you cared about that girl, but it's better that you know the truth. If we could've told you sooner, we would've."

A moment later, he heard his bedroom door close, and Edward's body slumped forward, limp.

Grace . . . Jake . . . and Billy . . . and who knew who else. . . .

His nightmares. The wolves. Grace, sparkling in the sunlight.

What was Jake that he turned into a fucking massive wolf?

What was Grace?

Two words faced off inside his head. Both were insane. But they were there, and they wouldn't be denied. He'd thought them earlier jokingly, but there was no joking now.

He could hear Jake's voice in his head. _"Bloodsucker. Leach."_

The first day he and Grace had spent together, the hoodie he'd given her to wear, it had been cold when she'd given it back to him, after she'd worn it for hours.

Edward felt like the walls were closing in on him. He felt cold, like the coldness was coming from inside him, like his blood had turned to ice. The air in his room was too heavy, too thick, he couldn't breathe. He felt like he was being choked.

Growling. Snarling.

A tremor ran through him from head to foot, and Edward bolted to his feet. He paced the length of his room, back and forth, jittery, jumpy. He couldn't stand still.

He couldn't stay there. Jake would be there soon. Edward's body shook. He felt like every hair on his body was standing on end.

His keys were on his dresser, and he grabbed them. He charged from his room and down the hall. His father was in the kitchen. Edward ran down the stairs and out the front door. His father followed him, calling after him. Edward jumped into his truck and started it. Flooring the pedal, he pulled out as fast as the old truck would go, his father, calling his name, being left in the dust as he drove off.

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Well, what'd you think? I hope you thought it was worth the wait. Send me a review and let me know. There is only one chapter to go in Stepping from Shadows, but I do have a continuation of the story in the works, but only _just_ in the works. Like, first chapter only just in the works. The last chapter will post in two weeks. Reviewers get a sneak peek at the the sneak peek, which for everyone else will post the Wednesday before on Facebook groups Twilight FanFiction Pays it Forward, The Twilight Fan Fiction Finders, Tufano79 Twilight Fanfiction Appreciation..., Twilight FanFiction Recommendations II, The No Rules Twilight fan fic Recs Club.

Author's notes:

Gray's father was the younger son of a Duke. His title was Lord Edward Masen, but according to what I've read, because he was the younger son and not the elder, his wife's title was Lady Edward Masen, and his daughter's title was the Honorable Miss Grace Isabella Masen, not Lady Elizabeth and Lady Grace Isabella.

.

Mabel Vernon was a national leader in the women's suffrage movement in the United States. She was a member of the American Woman Suffrage Association. The fictional photo in the history book is based on real pictures of her at a suffrage rally in Chicago in May 1916. She was one of the principal members of the Congressional Union for Women Suffrage (CUWS) and helped to organize the Silent Sentinels protests. From January 10, 1917, until June 4, 1919, when the 19th amendment to the constitution was passed by both the House and the Senate, nearly 2,000 women silently protested in front of the White House six days a week. Several were arrested and jailed. They were often beaten and given rancid, worm infested food. One suffragette, Lucy Burns, was beaten, had her hands chained to the cell bars above her head and was left her there for the night. Another, Dora Lewis, was thrown into a dark cell and smashed her head against an iron bed, which knocked her out. Her cellmate believed she was dead and suffered a heart attack. When the women declared a hunger strike, they were force fed by being held down on a chair and having a long tube shoved down their throats. Jailers attached a funnel to the tube and poured in mushed up raw eggs and milk for protein until the women threw up. Another woman was stabbed between the eyes with the broken staff of her banner after being taken to a Occoquan Workhouse.


	20. Chapter 20

Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this fic, and especially to everyone who voted for it in the Twific Fan Awards. I can't tell you how much I've appreciated all your comments. I do have a second part of the story in the works, To _Hold Something Beautiful,_ which is currently about half written. I have a cardinal rule of never posting anything until it's at least nearly completed, but since rules are made to be broken, the first chapter is posted. I hope you'll check it out and follow the story to be updated when. I start posting the completed fic. It's coming along nicely.

Thhis story is set in 2012.

A huge thank you to everyone who over the years has helped make this fic happen, from those lovely campers on A Different Forest who've offered their expertise on details, to the multitude of betas who've read a chapter or chapters from way back with Project Team Beta, and to all those who've volunteered to help me since then. You're all stars! An especially loud shout out to Raum for her years - literally, _years -_ of support and encouragement and to Patricia for all her help and advice.

 _Disclaimer - All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners._

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 _Chapter 20_

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As he drove out of Forks, Edward held the wheel in a white-knuckled grip. The phone in his pocket rang incessantly, and he fished it out and tossed it aside. Before he was consciously aware of where he was going, he was pulling up in front of Grace's house and parking as, above, the sun shone brightly. For a long stretch of time, he didn't move. Grace sat on the front steps, her legs drawn up to her chest, her arms folded on her knees. Her eyes were on the ground at the bottom of the stairs. She wore one of those thin-strapped tank tops, and she was barefoot. Anywhere the sun touched her bare skin, she glittered.

Mechanically, Edward pulled his keys from the ignition. He got out and hesitantly stepped toward her, then stopped. She didn't look up, didn't acknowledge he was there at all. She could've been a statue, she was so perfectly still.

"Miss Leonard's School for Girls closed in 1933."

Her only response was a barely perceptible nod of her head.

"When were you born?"

A pause. "1901."

His eyes fell shut. Heart dropping into the pit of his stomach and breaking, Edward turned and in two long strides, he was at his truck. He yanked the driver's side door open, his teeth clenched as he curled his fingers around the edge of the door. He took a deep breath through his nose and slammed the door shut.

"Answer me one question. Do you turn into an animal too? Like a bat?"

Another pause. "No."

"I'm not wrong, though."

"You're not wrong."

 _Oh, God._

Edward's legs felt weak and he sagged against his truck.

"Photosensitive, you said you were."

Grace raised her arms, her skin glittering like hundreds of Christmas lights.

"What, do you—do you have, like, a row of coffins in the basement, or something?"

"No."

"I thought vampires slept in coffins."

The word had slipped out, and for the first time, Grace raised her head and looked at him. Even after everything, a small part of him waited, hoping, for her to deny it, to ask him how hard he'd hit his head.

"We don't sleep. At all."

Edward's knees buckled, and he knelt down. He ran his hand through his hair, tugging on it until it hurt. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could open them and find himself at home in his bed, waking up from just another bad dream.

"Please," she said, begging. "I apologize for deceiving you. If you want us to leave, you only have to say the words. We will respect your wishes. Say the words, and my family will leave. You'll never have to see me again. Just, please, don't drag it out. If that is what you wish, please, say so and go. Please, don't make it worse than it has to be."

"That first night, what were you so afraid of?"

"You," she answered.

"Why?"

"You were around your friend Jacob Black shortly before we met," she said. "In close proximity."

He nodded. "How did you know that?"

"We could smell him on you. We were afraid the pack had grown in size and spread into the population of Forks."

Incredulous, Edward gaped. "You could smell him on me?"

"All our senses are exponentially stronger than a human's."

He paced in front of her.

"What? Like a shark? You can smell a drop of blood a mile away?"

Only after the words were out did Edward realize what he'd said.

"An exaggeration, but essentially, yes."

"Oh, God." Edward buried his face in his hands. "You—you . . . You actually, I mean, you actually, you drink—"

"Blood. Yes."

Edward gagged.

"Are you afraid?" she asked.

At that moment, he was more things that he could name, but afraid was not one of them.

"No."

Her expression was one of intense sorrow, but something seemed to ease in her eyes.

"If nothing else, I'm glad for that."

"This is fucking insane." He stalked back and forth. "This just—this just isn't real.

"How—When—What—I mean, how . . ." It was more than Edward could handle, and he dropped to the ground next to his truck, leaning back heavily against the hard metal.

"What I told you was the truth, if not the whole truth. When the Spanish Flu hit, it devastated my world. My father and I were dying. My mother had already died, months earlier. Carlisle was a friend, and my father begged him to save me."

"I don't think this was what he had in mind," Edward said sharply, incredulous.

"We'll never know for certain. My father was both unusually perceptive and unfailingly pragmatic. He asked Carlisle to save me, to do everything in his power, what others could not do. My father was a brilliant man and a very skilled orator. Choosing his words carefully was second nature to him. At the very least, he knew there was something Carlisle could do to save me that others could not."

Edward's mind boggled.

"Please, try to understand. When Carlisle made the decision to try to change me, he acted out of crushing loneliness. He'd been alone for over two centuries. He'd been unable to find a companion among others of our kind and had considered turning a human, but he's a deeply moral man. He wouldn't do to someone else what had been done to him. He wouldn't end someone's life. But I was different. I was already dying. If he did nothing, I would die within hours. He couldn't even be sure he could do it, but if he tried, at least I would have a chance."

Edward could not make himself believe he was having this conversation. Vampires were real. Grace was a vampire. Her adoptive father, who'd been the one to change her, was what, three hundred-years-old?

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Am I alright? You're a vampire, Grace. Jake is a, what, a werewolf? No, I am not fucking alright."

"I'm so sorry, Edward. Hurting you is the last thing on earth I would ever want. If I weren't so selfish, I would have kept my distance and never spoken to you. My family can be gone tomorrow," she said, dejected.

Edward turned his head and closed his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and swore voraciously, but silently.

"Do you—How do you—Tell me you don't— _Blood_ , Grace."

 _Where—? How—?_ He couldn't bring himself to ask. He was too afraid of the answer.

"We survive on the blood of animals," she said. "We call ourselves vegetarians."

So much relief washed over Edward, he could've cried.

"But we are the exception," she said. "Not the rule."

"The exception. Meaning. . . ?" he asked needlessly. He understood her perfectly. He was the lamb demanding answers from the lion.

"There are others out there who—"

"Are carnivores," he said, finishing her sentence for her.

"Carnivores. Yes."

The muscles in his stomach clenched at her confirmation. He looked at her desperately. "But you don't . . ." _Please, God. Let her not. . . ._

Her mouth opened, but when she didn't answer him immediately, he knew.

Edward bent double.

"It's very difficult," she said. "Resisting is harder than I can put into words. We're very practiced, and we're very careful. But—"

"But, what?" he spat. "Accidents happen?"

"Yes," she admitted quietly.

Edward jumped back to his feet. He took two long strides back toward his truck, then turned on a dime back toward Grace, only to stop and turn back to his truck. He sucked in a breath and spun around to face her.

"What am I supposed to say to that? 'Oh, well. You tried. Better luck next time.' How many accidents have you had?"

"None."

Edward sagged and wiped his hand over his face. _Oh, thank God._

"Every one of the humans I killed was completely intentional."

Every cell in Edward's body froze. His blood turned to ice. His eyes, though, burned, and his vision blurred. Doubled over, he braced himself, his good hand on his thigh, his other pressed against his forehead.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Do I look alright?"

"I swear to you on my parents' graves that what I told you after the first day we spent together was the truth. I have never harmed an innocent person. The people I killed were the embodiment of the very worst of human nature. They were the most vile, most savage of criminals. For every life I took, others were spared."

Edward's jaw was locked tight, but his shoulder's dropped an inch, and his head turned a degree in Grace's direction.

"I'm from Chicago," she said. "It was the late 1920s into the early 1930s. There was no shortage of prey. Every person I killed would've received the death penalty had their crimes been able to have been brought home to them in a fair court of law. If a murderer is killed and his victim spared, is his killing murder or justifiable? If there is a God, I will be judged by Him. Our minds are as exponentially stronger than a human's as our senses are. We are capable of thinking multiple things simultaneously, and we have a detailed and eidetic memory. I see the faces of every one of the men I killed, hear their last words, inside my head every single day."

Edward rubbed his forehead and flinched when his fingers brushed over his bandage.

"This is the worst possible day for this conversation," she said. "You're hurt. You should be at home, resting. You certainly shouldn't have driven."

"I've been sleeping all day. I don't want to rest anymore. I want answers."

Edward rubbed his face.

"Guess I know why you don't like Gatsby." he said. "He was a mob guy, wasn't he?"

"I don't like the white washing of the indefensible. I've seen real life Jay Gatsbys. They're nothing to glamorize."

Edward looked at Grace, really looked at her. Who was she, really? How much of the girl he'd thought he was getting to know was real? How much of the girl who'd stood beside a wounded soldier's bed almost a hundred years ago was sitting in front of him now? Any?

Enough?

Or was all that was there a monster who had hunted and killed God knew how many people?

Oh, God. She'd killed people. How could he ever get past that? Really, really bad people, yes. People who would've killed others.

Did that matter?

"Why did you stop?" he asked.

Grace bowed her head.

"I got scared. Please, believe me, I'd never intended to start. I left Carlisle, not permanently, just for a little while, a few years."

"A few years is a little while?"

"Compared to centuries, or potentially longer, yes."

 _Oh._

"He'd just married Esme, and if three is a crowd with human senses. . . ."

Edward nodded. Yeah, he got it.

"I had no intention of . . . adopting a more traditional diet."

"Call it what it is," Edward demanded.

"As you wish. I had no intention of hunting humans."

Hearing the words coming from Grace's mouth, Edward winced. Maybe he should've let her call it by another name.

"Why did you start then?"

Grace twisted her fingers together.

"I'd gone to a matinée. Talkies were brand new, and the theater was crowded with families. There was a woman there with her two young daughters. Pretty little things with long dark hair in braids tied with pink bows, pink dresses with white at the collar and cuffs . . . It was one of the girls' birthday. She was ten. They were going to have cake and ice cream when the girls' father came home from work." Grace's voice drifted off, and a shadow darkened her features despite the bright sun. "A few rows behind them sat two men. I could hear the depraved, disgusting things they were planning. They were going to follow the family out of the theater, and . . . I'm sure I don't need to go into detail."

"No." Edward could see the woman and her two little girls, totally unaware of the danger they were in.

"I swear, I only planned to give those two vermin the scare of their lives. I lured them away from the woman and her daughters and into an alley. It wasn't difficult. They thought they were going to have some fun. They called me Sugar. I told them to call me Nemesis."

"Who's that?"

"The goddess of retribution and revenge."

"What happened?"

"I shoved one of them against the wall, and he cracked his head on the brick. That was the moment they realized they were in trouble. I grinned at them, showing off my teeth. The other turned and ran. He tripped and fell, and he cut his hand on a broken bottle.

"And I smelled the blood."

Just hearing the word, Edward felt his gag reflex spring to life at the back of his throat.

"I was still very young then. Not quite ten. Under normal circumstances, at that age, resisting would've required every ounce of determination I possessed, but I could've done it. But I did tell you I have a devil of a temper, and enraged as it was at the time . . . The little girl whose birthday it was that day was born not long before my human life ended."

Edward bit his lip. Having heard the story, knowing what would've happened . . . It changed things. Whether that was right or wrong, he didn't know. But it was true. Even courts of law considered extenuating circumstances, didn't they? And he remembered the day of the shooting. There had been a hell of a lot more blood than a cut hand. Grace had actually had the injured man's blood all over her own hands. And she'd saved his life.

"I was disgusted with myself afterward," she said, "but I rationalized what I'd done. That woman and her two little girls were safe. Whoever those men would've preyed on the next time—and there would have been a next time—was safe. That made living with what I'd done easier. But even just one time was the undoing of all of my better intentions."

"Why?"

"Human blood . . . It's different than animal blood. Think crack compared to a baby aspirin. A person can become addicted to crack after using it just once."

"And human blood is. . . ?

"The best crack ever made."

"So, you were . . . addicted?"

"For lack of a better word."

Edward considered. Did that matter?

Maybe.

"You're still here," she said.

Yeah, he was still there. Rationally, he knew he shouldn't be. It defied logic that he'd even gone there in the first place. But he had. It hadn't even been a conscious decision. It had been instinct.

What did that mean?

Edward hesitated only a moment before he sat on the steps—near Grace, but not too near. The smile she gave him warmed him. That was not the smile of a monster. That was his Grace's smile.

"You stopped," he said. "You said you got scared?"

Grace breathed in and out and wrapped her hands around her calves.

"What happened?" he asked.

"As I said, there are others of our kind out there. Occasionally, we cross paths." She paused before going on. "I"m afraid there's no gentle way to say this, but most simply feed and move on."

Edward blanched, and she stopped.

"I'm sorry. I—"

"Don't stop," he said. Right or wrong, in his mind, he was already distancing Grace from those others. "Keep going."

She hesitated a long while, and when she did speak, it was with reluctance.

"Others—not many, but there are some who . . . stretch it out."

"Oh, God."

Edward doubled over. He wasn't stupid—the fact that he was willingly sitting alone, in an isolated location, with a vampire notwithstanding. He'd known what she was going to say before she'd said it, but that hadn't made hearing it any easier.

"I'm sorry, Edward. I—"

Catching his breath and steeling himself, Edward straighten up. "No. Go on."

Grace was not like those others. Murderers, she'd gone after. And child molesters. Edward thought about two little girls at the movies with their mother. Thanks to Grace, they'd arrived home safely. If she had dragged it out, those two would've deserved it.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She looked doubtful, but after a moment, she continued her story.

"Secrecy is of the utmost importance. We have one law—keep our existence secret. I stayed around Chicago more than anywhere else, but I moved around from city to city. In late 1931, outside of New York City I heard two others—"

"Who—dragged it out," Edward said.

Grace's face filled with tightly reigned in rage.

"Yes."

Edward moved closer to her. "What happened?"

Her voice was like ice. "They were depraved. I've encountered many truly wicked, despicable people, humans and vampires, but no one worse than they."

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not what she was, not what she'd done. That something had happened, something that had scared her badly enough to still affect her after all this time was all that mattered. Her hands rested on her knees and Edward placed his hand over hers, curling his fingers around hers. Hers were cold and stiff.

Their eyes met and hers held his, the intensity of emotion in them as she struggled to find her words giving him goosebumps.

"They were repugnant," she said. "But abhorrent as they were, I bore a stronger resemblance to them than I did to Carlisle. Worse, any resemblance to my own parents had been obliterated. I was horrified. I'd willingly worn blinders for so long, I'd forgotten the tunnel vision I'd been reduced to wasn't all there was to see, but then when those blinders were ripped off, I was forced to see three hundred and sixty degrees. I was forced to see myself, what I had become."

"That was what made you stop?"

She nodded. "I turned and ran. I didn't stop running until I'd reached the Alaskan coast and run out of land."

"You ran from New York to _Alaska_?" Edward's head swam.

Seemingly lost in her memories, Grace nodded absently, as if that were nothing out of the ordinary.

"I just collapsed," she said. "I curled into a ball on the frozen ground and didn't move for days."

"You didn't move for _days_?" Edward was bewildered. "How is that possible?"

"We don't need to feed as frequently as humans. We can easily go two weeks. Longer if necessary. We don't sleep. We don't get uncomfortable in one position for very long periods of time. Our muscles and joints don't need to be stretched out. Stillness comes natural to us."

Edward pressed his fingers against his eyes. It was too much to wrap his head around. His mind was reeling.

"Eventually, Tanya and her sisters, Irina and Kate, found me. By then, I was half buried in a snow drift."

"I'm sorry," Edward said, images swirling in his head, each more unbelievable than the last. "I'm trying to keep up, I really am. I just . . . ," The words tore at him as he spoke them, the image they painted burned into his brain. "You were half buried in a snow drift?"

"Extreme cold doesn't bother us."

 _Of course not. Run a few thousand miles, go days without moving, half buried in snow somewhere in Alaska . . ._ None of this could be real, but it was.

"I don't believe I would be here now had it not been for them. My self-loathing was too strong. I'd have found some random nomad and picked a fight I couldn't win."

Pressing his lips firmly together, Edward clenched her hand. They sat together in silence, the meaning of her words hanging heavily in the air, until he could speak past the lump in his throat and asked what had happened.

"I stayed with them for a while," she responded, "until I could bear to face Carlisle again. I was ashamed, and I knew how much what I'd done would hurt him and how fully he would take the weight of my actions onto his own shoulders. And Esme . . . She blamed herself. She believed it was her fault I'd left, that she'd broken up the little family Carlisle and I had formed and driven me away."

The despondency with which Grace spoke had Edward sliding across the steps toward her. One arm around her shoulders, he pulled her against his side the same way he had at the lake that first time they'd spoken. His vampire girlfriend, who couldn't stand to see a fish on a line, unable to breathe.

Grace curled against his side, molding herself to him. Pressing her cheek against his chest, she breathed in deeply.

"Thank you, Edward. Thank you for listening. Thank you for these past weeks. They've meant more to me than I could ever explain. For as long as I live, I will cherish the time I spent with you."

Edward's eyes burned, and he squeezed them shut as he buried his face in her hair. This was it, then. This was their good-bye. She was leaving. A sob fought its way up from his chest, and he kept his jaw locked tight against it. He could—he would—break down, but not now. Later, when he was alone. He wouldn't waste his last moments with Grace bawling like a baby.

Only when he was sure the sob had been locked down, did he dare to open his mouth.

"So, this is it, then? You're leaving."

Like she'd been startled, Grace straightened up and looked at him with wide, incredulous eyes.

Her mouth moved silently, as if she couldn't get her words out. When she spoke, she stumbled and stuttered uncharacteristically. "I thought—Don't you—I—You—Isn't that—Edward . . . Isn't that what you want? You can't . . . Knowing what I am, what I've done, you can't want me to . . . to stay?"

The sob in his chest made a second attempt to escape.

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

"You are," Grace said in a voice that trembled as noticeably as his own had.

His emotions all over the place, Edward's words came out in such a rush, he tripped over them.

"Yes, I want you to stay. I don't care what you are. It doesn't matter. No, that's stupid. Of course I care. Of course it matters. But I don't. It doesn't. I want you to stay. I can't—When I—You're . . ." The incredulity in Grace's eyes grew as he tried to get his words from his brain to is mouth coherently. "When I think of you leaving, I can't think straight. I can't see straight. I feel like I can't breathe. Like there's no air left to breathe. Like without you, all that's left is a vacuum, pulling me apart from all sides." Edward stopped. He licked his lips and ran the back of his hand across them. "Like, if you left, I would never stop trying to find you again."

"For where thou art, there is the world itself," Grace said softly. "And where thou art not, desolation."

"Yeah. That. Just, you know, not so eloquent."

"Edward. . . ."

Without warning, the stairs vanished from under him. He was in the air, and he was spinning. It was like he'd been swept up in a whirlwind, like Dorothy.

Instinctively, Edward grabbed hold of the only solid thing near him, which he realized after a second of stunned surprise was Grace. She was holding him in her arms, bridal style, and twirling around. Edward felt motion sick.

"Put me down!"

Gingerly, she set him on his feet, grinning widely, and ducked her head. "Oops."

Edward eased himself to the ground, closed his eyes, and focused on breathing in and out—and not puking.

In an instant, Grace's demeanor changed completely, from ecstatic to self-reproach. Kneeling next to him, she lay one hand on his back and the other on his knee. "Did I hurt you?"

 _Breathe in. Breathe out._

"No."

 _Breathe in._ "I'm the guy who gets sick on the Tilt-A-Whirl." _Breathe in._ "I couldn't even go on the tea cups as a kid. Any roller coaster or anything that actually moves, great, but anything that just spins. . . ." _Breathe in._

"I'm sorry."

Edward laughed self-deprecatingly. "This is nothing. You should see how fast the sight of blood has me puking my guts out." Then he realized what he'd said.

After her own second of surprise, Grace laughed.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," he said, relaxing as the nausea faded. "Yeah. I'm okay."

"Just okay with the nausea, or okay with. . . ?"

"I'm still here."

Grace traced the tip of her finger down back of his hand. "Yeah. You are. I can't quite make myself believe that yet. That day at the lake, I was terrified that just seeing us was going to send you running away screaming." Her head cocked to one side, she hesitantly held her hand out and pressed it against his chest. "Normal," she said. "You really aren't afraid of me."

Edward held up his own hand toward her. "Can I?"

When Grace nodded, he pressed his hand to her chest, over her heart. He could feel the cold smoothness of her skin along her collarbone under his fingertips. He could feel the swell of her breast under his palm. He could feel her breathe. But he could feel no heartbeat. Had any doubt lingered, that undeniable proof would have had to erase it.

"You really are a vampire."

"Afraid so."

"Wow," Edward said as real and unreal were forced to switch places inside his head, like boulders being ripped from the earth by bulldozers.

Grace's lips twitched with suppressed laughter. "Wow?"

"Well, what else am I supposed to say?" he asked, feeling his own lips twitch.

"AHHHHH!" she answered, waving her hands around wildly.

"I'll save that for when I see Jasper."

Something in Grace's demeanor changed, but it was gone in an instant. Edward almost asked, but didn't. Jasper was a vampire. And Alice. That was altogether different than Grace.

And the guys out on the rez, they turned into wolves.

"That day in the woods behind my house," he asked. "That growl. Who. . . ?"

"Jacob Black. I . . ." Grace released a breath of a nervous half-laugh. "You have no idea how close a watch he's been keeping over you. He loves you like a brother. I nearly told you everything that day. He must've sensed something in me that raised his hackles, if you'll pardon the expression."

Jake. Edward rubbed his forehead. He hadn't been back in the woods since that day, and it had only been Jake.

It had been _Jake_.

"Does your head hurt?" Grace asked.

"It feels like it's going to explode. But, no, it doesn't hurt. I'm just trying to . . . This is . . . I mean . . . Jesus Christ, Grace, you're a vampire. Like, a real vampire."

She gave him one of her lopsided, half smiles. "I know."

"So, you, um," he cleared his throat, "hunt animals." That was okay. He could deal with that. After all, he hunted too.

Somehow, though, he didn't think they had a license or followed the seasons.

"I prefer mountain lion," she said with a gleam in her eye. Then she pulled a face like she'd accidentally drunk a glass of soda left out from the day before. "But deer are more plentiful. We're very judicious in our hunting. We are careful not to impact wildlife populations. We spread out, and we don't hunt twice consecutively in the same area."

His wildlife conservationist vampire girlfriend.

"Different animals taste different?"

"Doesn't their meat?"

That made sense, he guessed. But _ew_. His gag reflex threatened to kick up, and he fought it back.

"I bet with those enhanced senses of yours, you're one hell of a shot."

She shook her head. "We don't use guns." She smiled and held up her hands, wiggling her fingers.

Edward's jaw dropped. "You don't—You can't—You mean . . . you just . . . with your bare hands?"

Her eyes glittered.

His girlfriend hunted mountain lions with her bare hands. Edward swallowed heavily as that sank in.

"Edward?"

"I'm okay. Just . . . give me a second. I mean, holy crap, Grace. Just how strong are you anyway?"

To answer his question, she walked over to his truck, slipped one hand under the bumper and, lifting the front end off the ground, she pulled it along behind her like it was nothing but a child's toy wagon.

 _Ho—ly fuck_.

She sat next to him, her legs bent at the knee and her ankles crossed, her arms around her calves.

"You know," Edward said after his breath came back to him, "you're supposed to lift with your knees."

She grinned.

Then he remembered the wolves that lunged at her yesterday. The wolves she'd knocked on their asses. He recounted to her what he could remember of yesterday and asked if that was really what had happened.

The corners of Grace's eyes tightened.

"Grace?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just very difficult, remembering seeing you lying on the side of the road, hurt and bleeding." She took his injured hand, and with obvious effort, her posture softened. "But what you remember is accurate."

It wasn't exactly easy remembering those creatures lunging at her either.

"What was that treaty everyone was talking about?" he asked.

A moment passed before she answered.

"We—Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, Emmett, and I—came to Forks for the first time in 1935. It was the first time Emmett had lived among humans since he was changed."

"Rosalie?"

"My sister. Emmett's wife. You haven't met her yet. Rosalie and I have a strained relationship, something for which I am to blame."

Although his first impulse was to dispute that—he'd already opened his mouth to do just that—Edward refrained. Something told him now was not the time.

"One evening, we encountered your friends' great grandfathers while we were hunting." Grace explained the confrontation, how close it had come to the two sides attacking each other, how Carlisle's diplomacy had calmed the scene that otherwise would've erupted with deadly consequences, and the agreement the two sides had come to.

Edward pinched the bridge of his nose. Grace had met Jake's great grandfather when he was a young man. On top of everything else, that one thing should not be the thing that stuck in his throat and wouldn't go down, but it was. That was something that gave him perspective, a point of his reference. It belonged to his world. It was something he could understand, relate to.

Jake's great grandfather was younger than Grace.

Anxiously, she pulled her lips between her teeth.

"I've pushed you too far, haven't I?"

"Stupid thing for me to get stuck on, isn't it? I mean, after everything else?"

"No. I don't think so."

"So, um, 1901."

"1901."

Edward did the math in his head. She was one hundred and eleven. Holy fuck.

"Who, um, who was that old lady who died?"

"Mary Agatha Emerson." Saying the name, Grace's posture slumped.

"You knew her when you were. . . ."

"Human. Yes," she said despondently. "She was Trudy's younger sister. She was the last person left in the world who knew Grace Isabella Mason. Every single person I ever knew during my human life is now dead. She was the very last one."

A lump formed in Edward's throat. "Grace—"

"Should've happened decades ago, really. How many people live to one hundred and seven?

"The last time I saw her," Grace said, "she was this beautiful little twelve-year-old, still wearing her waves of blonde hair down her back. She could've been an artist's model for a portrait of an angel."

"I'm so sorry."

Grace lowered her eyes. "She was the most rotten little brat I've ever known, the miserable beast."

Edward's eyebrows shot to the middle of his forehead with surprise.

"Well, I'm sorry, but she was," Grace said. "She used to delight in getting us int trouble." Grace looked at him with indignation. "One time, at an important charity function our mothers had organized, she told everyone that Trudy, Sybbie, and I had been brought home by the police."

"What! Why would she—"

"Because she was a wicked little wretch. She was such a venomous little creature, I'm surprised her own tongue didn't poison her."

"Why would she lie like that?"

"I don't say she lied," Grace admitted.

"You mean, you and your friends got brought home by the police?" Edward asked, grinning.

"Well, yes. But the point is, it was no business of hers to go blabbing."

Edward leaned forward. "What'd you do?"

Grace looked at him for a long moment before answering, her past haunting her eyes, and Edward's amusement turned to apprehension.

"We dared upset the apple cart, 'the natural order of things.' We were part of a group of women with picket signs, demanding women be afforded the right to vote. We had pamphlets we were handing out, and we were singing songs.

"Let man if he will then bid us be still and silent.

A price he'll pay high for it.  
For we won't and we can't, and we don't and we shan't!

Let us all speak our minds if we die for it!

"The police said we were blocking the sidewalk and creating a public nuisance, and that if we did not desist immediately, and run along and embroider something like good girls, we would be arrested and charged—and how could we ever hope to find husbands then?"

Edward was left speechless, the image of Grace at that suffragette rally in their history books front and center in his mind and taking on a much deeper meaning. He felt inordinately proud.

"The world I knew was very different from the one you live in," she said. "The last line of that song was not an exaggeration. Our house was fire bombed one evening because of our outspoken stand on women's enfranchisement."

Edward's heart clenched. "What happened?"

"We—my parents and I—were sitting together one evening after dinner, and a group of men with more alcohol in their blood than brains in their heads lit rags stuffed into the mouths of bottles filled with gasoline and threw them through the windows. Memories of our human lives are veiled. They're there, but they're clouded. That night, though," her voice drifted off and her eyes lost their focus, "that night I remember well. The sound of shattering glass, my mother's scream, burning gasoline spreading, the smell. Seeing that picture in our history book was a shock."

Edward almost said he could imagine, but didn't because he couldn't.

"Did they catch them?"

"The police, no." Grace came back to the present and grinned. "But Carlisle did. Believe me, given the choice, they'd have preferred the police. We don't form bonds easily or often—exceedingly rarely with humans—but when we do, those bonds are immutable. He didn't hurt them, but he did put the fear of God into them. We can be very intimidating when we choose to be."

Edward remembered the waiter Grace had sent running for cover with just a look. At the time, he had thought it was funny that a scowl from a girl had sent a grown man scurrying away. "I believe it." He wanted to ask if Carlisle had gone after the fucker who'd hurt her, too, but he didn't. He remembered how angry she'd said he was, and she'd said she'd never seen the bastard again.

"Carlisle is a very gentle man, but he is also very protective of those he cares about. That's a quality we all share," she said, her voice growing soft and her eyes dropping. Edward followed her line of sight. She was looking straight at the healing bruise around his wrist.

"I'm so sorry, Edward."

The day of the robbery—Grace had come rushing into the store, all bundled up, her hair hanging in front of her face. He looked at her, sunlight reflecting off her skin like diamonds. "You went outside, in public, while the sun was out? Are you crazy? Someone might've seen you."

She shrank back. "I'd really rather you didn't mention that to my family."

Hearing that, the risk she'd taken hit him more fully—what if someone _had_ seen something? What would happen? "Why would you do that?"

"There were two armed men planning to hold up the store you were in. What else could I do?"

Edward lost his breath. She'd risked being seen in the sunlight to protect him.

"I heard them as they neared Forks. I waited as long as I could," she said. "The sun was almost concealed, but they were too close to wait any longer. I could hear what they were thinking. It was all I could do to not rip the door off its hinges."

Edward blinked. "Did you just—" He forced a laugh he didn't feel and told himself he had to have heard her wrong. "I thought you just said you'd heard what they were thinking."

Her eyes on the ground, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

Slowly, Edward's laughter faded away. "Grace?"

Without raising her head, she lifted her eyes to him.

"I can hear every thought that passes through the mind of every sentient being within three miles."

"Oh, God." Edward choked on his words, and he inched away from her. He felt sick. As if called forward by her words, things he'd thought about her stormed to the front of his brain—what he'd thought they could be doing the day they'd made out on the couch, the things he'd thought when he'd first seen her, when she'd agreed to go to the Hoh with him, and so many other things. He was mortified. His face felt hot, and he was sure he was bright red.

Grace covered her head with her hands. "Every minute of every day." She moved her hands and covered her face, her fingertips pressing firmly against her forehead, her palms muffling her words, and Edward remembered seeing her doing the same thing that first night, the first time they'd met. "Thousands of voices, one over another over another. It's like a swarm of bees, constantly buzzing inside my head."

Her words were sobering. Staggered, he had no idea what to say as he grasped the burden Grace carried more fully. His first thought had been about himself, about his own embarrassment. Grace—who'd had just told him she'd risked being seen in the sunlight to protect him. He'd moved away from her because he was embarrassed.

"Until you," she said, lowering her hands and looking at him.

"Me?"

"You are the first person I have ever met whose mind is completely silent to me."

"I am?"

"You are. To a lesser degree your father, and your grandfather and great uncle before him. But you—nothing. The first time I saw you, it scared me. You asked me before what I was afraid of the first time we saw each other. I told you it was because you smelled like one of the Quileute wolves, and it was. But the fact that I couldn't hear what you were thinking is what made the possibility of your being a member of the current pack truly worrisome. Worrisome enough that my family almost decided to leave that very night."

"I'm glad you didn't," Edward said. It was rather an understatement. His mind was reeling and he felt overwhelmed, but that, that he was sure about.

"I, too."

They sat quietly together for a moment as reality continued to rewrite itself inside Edward's head.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Blown away," he said honestly. "I don't know. I mean, seriously—like, holy fuck."

"I keep waiting for the one thing that will be one thing too much and drive you away."

"Is there more?" Edward asked, half dazed, half desperate for her to say no.

She ticked things off on her fingers as she answered, "Blood, sparkle, born over a hundred years ago," she looked at him, "let's call it my vigilante period, mind reader. I think that's most of it."

"Don't forget able to kick fucking massive wolves on their asses."

"That, too."

"I really don't know what to say, or to ask, first." He scratched his forehead. "You're a hundred and eleven years old."

"If you count the first seventeen years, yes."

Reruns of old TV shows, black and white movies, the stuff in that old time capsule at school—

"You lived in Forks before?"

"Do you remember when I told you that our house was designed by the second woman to become a licensed architect in the state of Washington?"

"Yeah."

"Her name was Esme Anne Rochester."

"Esme? You mean—?"

One eyebrow lifted, Grace nodded.

"We use a new assumed last name and a new cover story every time we settle somewhere new. That time around, we were the Rochesters. We pick names with special meaning to us. Rosalie was from Rochester."

A hollow space opened up inside him. Would Grace one day be an Edwards?

Lightly, she touched her fingertips under his chin.

"You move around a lot, then?" he asked.

"We don't age. We can only hide that for so long."

That his time with Grace was limited was something Edward had already known on his own, but hearing it cemented made his stomach clench.

"Edward?"

He shook his head.

"What's wrong?"

"I just . . . I mean, I knew someone like you wouldn't hang around somewhere like Forks for long—"

"Someone like me?"

Edward laughed humorlessly. "Come on. You belong somewhere where the only museum in the county isn't dedicated to the history of logging. I mean, you quote ancient Greek poetry."

"I have a degree in Greek and Roman Studies from Vassar. I can recite any number of works," she said softly. "But there's a world of difference between memorization and understanding."

Grace looked at the sky. The sun was dipping toward the tops of the trees.

"I couldn't go to First Beach with you when you suggested it because it's on Quileute land, but I have a better idea." She stood up and held her hand out to him. "Come with me?"

"Said the spider to the fly?" Edward asked.

"Come hither, hither, pretty fly," she responded seductively, curling her finger.

She led him into the house, and Edward's stomach twisted. Grace was one thing, but . . . The house felt entirely different than it did the first time he'd been there, and he found himself peering around corners and into rooms.

"Where's your family?"

"Out," she said after a moment's hesitation and not meeting his eyes, which said more than the single word answer and did not help Edward's unease.

"And they, um, they know I know?"

"Yes," she said, stopping on the first stair.

"Is that a problem?"

"No. Not a problem. It's just . . ." She looked at a loss for words, and her sentence went unfinished.

"Secrecy is of the utmost importance," he finished for her, remembering what she'd said earlier.

"Yes," she said with heavy emphasis.

"I can keep my mouth shut."

"Oh, they know that. It's just. . . ."

For the second time, she faltered for words, but this time, Edward remained silent.

"They're afraid," she said after a moment.

"Because I know?"

"Yes. No. They're afraid of someone finding out you know."

Her meaning wasn't immediately clear to him. It came on him slowly, but with terrifying clarity.

"The others you sometimes come across."

"Yes."

"Can they read minds too? I mean," he hadn't thought of that possibility before, "is that normal? Can you all do that?"

"No. That's just me."

" _That's_ just you?"

She smiled at him. "You are remarkably perceptive. Papa would approve of you."

"Can all your family do stuff? Are you, like, I don't know, the Vampire Incredibles or something?"

This was surreal.

"I like that. The Vampire Incredibles. Well, Emmett has the strength."

 _That_ did not make Edward feel any better.

"Great."

Grace's smile widened. "And Rosalie can make the temperature in a room drop."

Edward gaped. "Can she really?"

"No. Not really. It just feels that way sometimes."

"So, it's just you, then?"

"Alice can see the outcomes of decisions people make, and Jasper is empathic."

Edward waited for her to laugh at her own joke, but the seconds ticked by silently.

"Seriously?"

Grace nodded.

"Ho—ly fuck. What, I mean, how—?"

"We don't know how or why some of us have gifts. We just do. Carlisle theorizes that strengths or skills we had as humans are amplified along with everything else when we're changed."

Grace looked uncomfortable at the topic. Edward had more questions, but he didn't ask. There would be time another day for the answers. "Where are we going?"

"Just see," she said, leading him up the stairs.

On the third floor, they walked toward the same room she'd taken him to before

In the room, the evening sun poured in through the west-facing windows, giving the room a warm, golden glow. On the shelves stood the books and music collection, the knickknacks and black and white framed photographs Edward remembered.

Grace moved to the shelves and picked up a portrait in an ornate silver frame. For a long moment she looked at it longingly before holding it out to him.

The photograph was old and slightly faded. It was a wedding picture, the bride, a severe, stiff looking woman in an elaborate gown with a high neck and long sleeves and a very narrow waist, standing beside the groom, seated very upright in an upholstered chair, a top hat perched on his knee. His head was held high above the collar of his shirt, which looked like a band of white cardboard wrapped around his neck, a look of self-assuredness on his face, like the world was his for the taking.

"My parents," Grace said. The open affection and grief in her face as she looked at the couple a stark contrast to their sternness. She touched their images. "They were married in 1899. Their wedding was the social event of the season."

This stern woman was the woman who'd introduced a suffragette in front of a large—and Edward was sure, rowdy—crowd. This man, with his head held high, was the same man who'd begged for his daughter's life as he lay dying.

"You miss them."

"Every day."

"Your grandfather was a Duke."

Her head lowered, she nodded. "The money was all on my mother's side, though. His family had a title, but the money was gone. Her family had money and wanted a title." She sighed, almost in contempt, Edward thought. "We were the elite among the elite in Chicago. In the end, though, it all meant nothing. For all our wealth and position, we fell victim to the pandemic the same as anyone else."

From a drawer, Grace pulled out an antique leather bound album. "My mother was an avid photographer," she said. Wordlessly, Edward sat next, to her. The pages held square photographs held in place by black tabs at the corners, and below each photograph, very old handwriting in faded ink named the pictures' subjects or location. The first photograph was of just the kind of a house you would expect a family like Grace had described to live in. It was huge. Three stories of ornately carved stone, covered porches and wide open verandas leading to landscaped grounds, balconies with heavy stone pillars and railings draped with trailing plants.

"Those are the windows the men threw the fire bombs through," she said, pointing them out. "That was the informal parlor, were we sat most evenings, unless we had guests. The formal parlor was here," she said, pointing out other windows. One by one, she pointed out rooms—dining room, breakfast room, library, billiard room, conservatory, ladies' sitting room, gentlemen's smoking room.

This was the type of home people took tours of or turned into museums, the type of home film producers shot period movies about rich people in, and it was the house Grace had grown up in. Edward rubbed the back of his neck.

"I have no idea where my bedroom was," she said, "and only a vague idea of what it looked like. I remember purple walls, I think. Like lilacs. The public rooms, though, I could describe to you in the most minute detail. Carlisle spent time in those rooms on numerous occasions.

"It was torn down decades ago," she said. "For that matter, so was my father's family seat in England."

Grace turned the pages, and one by one, small windows into the world she'd once inhabited opened up in front of Edward. He felt like an extra in the background of a scene set in third class during the filming of _Titanic_ , and Grace . . . Grace was the beautiful rich girl from the upper decks.

She turned the next page, but stopped. "I did say you would laugh if you could see our field hockey uniforms." Then she turned the page, and Edward did laugh. Three girls stood side by side on a veranda, hockey sticks held out in front of them. They wore uniforms with large, baggy white tops that looked like part of a sailor's uniform with their dark scarfs framing collared V necks, and dark skirts to below their knees with dark stockings and dark shoes. Across their shirts was written the year, 1918. The girl in the middle was Grace.

"Trudy and Sybbie," she said softly, indicating which girl was who. "We weren't expected, or indeed permitted to compete seriously of course, not like the boys," she said wistfully. "But it was great fun all the same. We could run. It might not seem like much now, but it was indescribable to us then."

More pictures showed the same three girls. One on a tennis court, wooden rackets in hand. They wore all white, white blouses with little dark bows at the point of collared V necks and pleated white skirts—again past their knees—with white stocking and white shoes. In another they stood in front of a horse and wore dark, buttoned up jackets with high collars and black top hats. The other two girls wore long, full skirts to just above their ankles, but Grace wore riding trousers. In their hands they held white gloves and long sticks. In the last they posed near a tree and wore white, patterned dresses, pearls, white hats, and sheer white gloves.

"What happened to them?"

"Trudy died of childbed fever when she was twenty-two. Sybbie of tuberculous at thirty-one. Combined, the three of us only got seventy years. Mary Agatha got one hundred and seven. I doubt she did one single thing of note in her entire life."

Edward ran his hand down her back, and she curled against him. They sat together quietly for a long moment before Grace closed the album and set it aside. She stood up and held her hand out to him.

"A morose trip down memory lane wasn't what I was thinking of when I brought you up here, and if we dally, we'll miss it."

He stood up and took her hand, and they went outside to the balcony. If the sun filled the room with warm golden light as it sank lower in the sky, that was nothing compared to the view outside. Above, the sky was a deep sapphire blue, and the clouds stretching like ribbons above the horizon glowed gold, pink, and purple.

"Come with me?" she asked with a lopsided grin and a raised eyebrow. A second later, she leaped from the small balcony to the roof. Kneeling down, she held her hand down to him. "I'll pull you up."

Edward stood open mouthed. Words of protest that she couldn't possibly lift him up to the roof—and with one hand—formed on the tip of his tongue, but then he remembered what he'd seen her do, and cautiously, he raised his hand.

With seemingly very little effort, Grace lifted him off his feet like a crane.

"Oh God," Edward said, clinging to her arm, his feet dangling. "Oh—okay, oh God." Seconds after his feet left the balcony, they set down on the roof.

Grace giggled. Edward relaxed the death grip he had on her arm and looked around.

"Wow. This is. . . ."

"I like to come up here and watch the sunset."

"I can see why."

"Come on," she said, taking his hand again and taking a step up the roof.

"Oh. Um, okay. We're, we're going to climb the roof." He took a cautious step, relieved when he didn't slide down and off. "I've, um, I've never climbed a roof before."

They reached the peak and sat down—Edward far more gingerly than Grace. He put his hands down flat on the slate shingles. Beside him, Grace pulled her legs up to her chest and crossed her ankles. She leaned toward him, laying her head against his shoulder, and Edward began to relax. He shifted closer to her, picking up his hand and playing with the ends of her hair.

A little while ago, Edward asked himself how much of the girl he'd thought he was getting to know was real. He had his answer. She was a vampire, and he was a human. She was the daughter of wealth and privilege beyond his imagination. He was the son of a small town police chief and about as middle class as they came. But they fit together as if by design.

As it had since he'd arrived, sunlight refracted off her bare skin like she were a diamond. He had so many questions still to ask her—what was up with the sparkling thing among them—but they would keep. Together, they sat in a comfortable silence, watching the glowing shades in the sky deepen as the sun sank lower. Grace curled against him, and he held her close. As the sun touched the horizon, she cupped her hand over his jaw.

"I have waited my entire life to watch the sunset with you."

He tucked her hair behind her ear, and let the tips of his fingers trail along her jaw. Being with Grace was still the most natural thing in the world. It was the same as always, because Grace was the same.

Her hand stroked along his arm, and he felt chills run down his spine. She sighed and turned her head away from the sunset, toward Forks.

"I'm afraid we'll be receiving company very shortly," she said in disappointment.

The chills down his spine spread throughout him. "Your family?"

"No. Your friend, Jacob."

 _Oh, God._ _Jake._ The canine growl Edward had first heard in the woods echoed in his ears. He might have preferred it were Grace's family. He wasn't ready to see Jake.

"He's, um, coming here?"

Grace traced patterns on his thigh.

"He does have impeccable timing."

"Why's he coming here?"

Grace laughed. Head down, but eyes up at him and one brow raised, she answered, "He's displeased."

 _He was?_ Edward swallowed.

Apart from annoyed, what Grace seemed most was amused "Most displeased," she said with a laugh as her fingers returned to doodling idly on his thigh. "Positively frothing at the mouth."

"And you know this—how?"

She tapped the side of her forehead and smirked.

Edward's eyes widened. "You can hear what he's thinking?"

"Did you think I was making it up?"

"No. I just—I mean, holy fuck. You can hear what Jake's thinking."

And his father, Edward realized. Both their father's. He fidgeted uncomfortably.

"What's, um, what's he thinking?"

"How many pieces he can tear me into." Grace rolled her eyes. "He's not terribly original. Seems to have short term memory issues, as well," she said with a scoff.

Edward stared off in the direction Grace had. She'd been looking in the direction of Forks—as the crow flies, not toward the highway. Did that mean . . . Was Jake, well, _Jake_? Or was he. . . .

Not?

Her demeanor changed. "I do have to give him credit for one thing, though," she said, looking down. "He is devoted to you."

"Why's he coming here?" Edward asked for a second time.

She didn't answer.

"Grace?"

"To check on you," she admitted. "To make sure you're still human."

" _What_?"

"He's afraid I've run off with you," she answered, still looking down. "Carried you away somewhere and bitten you."

Edward couldn't speak. He felt his mouth form a perfect O. That possibility had never entered his head.

"I wouldn't do that to you," she said hesitantly.

"Why would he think you would?" he asked breathlessly when he found his voice.

Grace wrapped her arms around herself and pulled her lips between her teeth. In a nearly inaudible whisper, eyes down, she said, "I can't say the thought has never occurred to me. Were I like the others, the nomads, I already would have."

At her admission, Edward went cold. She had thought about. . . ? He swallowed hard, forcing his stomach back to where it belonged. Staring blindly ahead, he remembered that first day, driving out to the Hoh.

" _I do hunt, yes."_

" _Maybe we could go hunting together sometime."_

" _I look forward to it."_

Edward swayed where he sat. The world spun around him, and the roof felt like it dropped a foot under him. If she chose to, she could . . . He knew how strong she was. He wouldn't be able to stop her.

"You've knocked my world upside down," Grace said, and his eyes snapped back to her. "Never before have someone else's wants come so naturally before my own," she said. "But yours do." She held her arms out at her sides. "This is all I am. All I'll ever be. I could live for God only knows how long, but I'll never see eighteen. I'll never move forward. None of us will. Fifty years from now, a hundred, we'll all be exactly as we are right now, exactly as we were fifty years ago. But you—you have a real future. You have possibilities and opportunities that I never can. I won't see you robbed of those."

Edward couldn't move, couldn't pull his eyes away from her. He felt pins and needles from head to foot, and his pulse drummed in his ears. His body felt heavy, like his bones had turned to lead, and his muscles felt stiff. His lungs burned, and he took two deep breaths

Not looking at him, she said, "I understand if you never want to see me again. I won't try to stop you from leaving. Jacob can drive you home."

In front of him, Grace twisted her fingers together. As she waited, she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

Her teeth. Edward shuddered, the reality of what her teeth could do suddenly so much more personal.

The air was still and absolutely silent. Grace's face fell as the silence stretched on, and when Edward's heart fell with it, he knew he trusted her. His good hand on the roof, he pushed himself up. His legs were more than a little unsteady, and the thought occurred to him that he just might be the single most stupid human being who ever lived, but he trusted her.

When she looked back at him, the emotion in her face was intense. Eyes were the windows to the soul, they said, and Grace's eyes openly showed him her every emotion.

"I already said I didn't want to go."

"That was before—"

"I don't want to go," he said more forcefully. "And I never want to never see you again."

He wished he had Grace's eloquence. That last bit had made more sense in his head than it had spoken out loud. Even given what she'd just told him, he couldn't imagine the desolation of a world without her in it.

"I never want to never see you again either," she said. She held her hand out to him hesitantly. "You really trust me?"

The sun had never shone so brightly as Grace's eyes did when he took her hand.

In the next second, his feet were off the ground, and he was in Grace's arms for the second time that night. Like they'd gotten the traditional roles reversed, Grace carried him down the roof like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. She stepped off the edge as if she hadn't noticed it there. Edward sucked in a breath and clung to her, but before he could exhale, they were on the balcony again, and she was gently setting him down on his feet.

"Okay?" she asked.

He nodded, dazed.

"We'd better go." She looked anxious and uncertain, casting her eyes between him and the trees at the back of the yard. "The sooner he sees you, the better."

"Jake—can he hear us?"

"Not yet, but soon."

"Is he. . . ?" _Jake. Is he Jake, or. . . ?_ he wanted to ask, but couldn't.

"Now, yes. Before, no," she answered, understanding his unasked question.

Edward shuddered, and Grace touched his arm.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I'm okay." He looked toward the back of the house. "Let's go."

They passed through the music room and stepped out onto a large stone patio filled with wrought iron tables and chairs and several large but empty decorative pots. Standing next to him, Grace stared into the trees, her face blank, betraying nothing of what she felt, but her hand held his, her thumb stroking his, giving away everything her face concealed.

The moonless sky had deepened to an inky dark purple, minutes away from black.

Releasing Edward's hand, Grace took a step forward. A low, feline rumble, like a lioness, emerged from her throat. A second later, Jake stepped out of the trees and into the yard. Edward took a step back. He could still hear that low, menacing growl. He could still feel the hair on his arms stand on end. That sound, the animal he'd caught a glimpse of . . . it had been Jake.

"You have no right to be here," Grace said forcefully. "I suggest you leave."

"I don't give a fuck what you suggest," Jake said from across the large yard. In the quiet, still air, his voice carried.

"Jake," Edward said, his chest tight. "It's okay, man."

"Okay?" Jake said, laughing coldly. "Your dad's having fucking heart attacks. That sound okay to you? Or don't you care about that?"

Guilt coiled in Edward's gut. The way he'd driven off like that, he had to have scared his dad half to death, but all he'd been able to think about was not being able to face Jake.

"You've seen what you came to see," Grace said. "Now leave."

"Not without him," Jake responded.

"Jake, c'mon, man," Edward said. "She isn't going to hurt me. Just, please—go."

Through the darkness, Edward saw Jake fold his arms in front of himself.

"You think I'm gonna leave you here with that leech?" Jake laughed mockingly. "She tell you what she wants to do to you?"

"She won't do that."

"You believe that? Now I know you're crazy. Or maybe just fucking stupid."

"Watch it, flea bag," Grace said, taking a step forward.

"I look scared to you?" Jake said, spiting the words out.

"What you look like is a slow learner," Grace said.

"Jake, c'mon, man," Edward said. "Please, just go already. I'll call my dad and say I'm on my way."

"We're watching you," Jake said, jutting his chin out.

"And we, you."

Even through the dark, Edward could see that the look Jacob gave him was cold and hard, and he felt something wilt inside him.

"I can't believe you'd pick that bloodsucking corpse," Jake said. "I'll tell Charlie you're not dead yet. Someone oughta think about him."

The knot of guilt inside Edward grew and burned hotter. Before he could say a word, Jake had turned and disappeared into the trees.

Once Jake was gone, Grace turned to him, and Edward crumpled. "Oh, God," he said. "My dad. I didn't think—I just—He's gotta be just . . ." He reached for his phone, but remembered he'd left it in his truck. His father had been trying to call him, and he'd tossed his phone aside. Turning back to the house, he walked with long, rapid strides. "I have to go. I have to go home."

"I'll drive you."

Edward strode quickly through the house, Grace right behind him, and yanked the front door open. At his truck, he fumbled with his keys before dropping them.

Grace caught them before they could hit the ground.

"Breathe," she said.

"Jake—was he thinking about him? Did you see him. How is he? Is he okay?"

Grace's lips parted, but she paused, and they closed. How bad a shape was his father in, if she wouldn't answer him?

"Tell me."

"He will be once he sees you."

"God," Edward said. "Everything is so messed up."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

"Isn't it? If I were human—"

"You'd have died almost a hundred years ago. Given the choice between the two, I'll take you as a vampire." He played with her hair. "No matter what you've done. No matter how messed up everything is. Anything is better than the alternative."

"You really mean that," she said, amazement ringing in her voice.

"Of course I do."

Grace looked at him, her eyes drawing together in question.

"What?" he asked.

"I sometimes have trouble believing you're real," she said. "If I were capable of sleeping, I'd be sure you were a dream. You can't be real."

Grace was saying about him exactly what he'd always thought about her. Edward stepped closer to her and wove his fingers through her hair.

"You are my North, my South, my East and West," she said, looking up at him. "My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song."

"That's exactly how I feel about you."

He leaned down, and she stretched up, and their lips met.

Nothing about this would be easy. Every card in every deck was stacked against them. Soon, they would have to go and face his father and their friends. As if to remind him of that, in the distance, a wolf howled at the moon, making Edward's eyes widen and his arms tighten around Grace protectively.

He had no idea how they would make this work. He only knew they would. His world had split into two factions, but he wasn't letting anyone take her away from him.

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Author's notes – THANKS FOR READING! I hope you enjoyed the story, and I hope you'll review and let me know what you thought. Reviewers will get a sneak peek at the first chapter of _To Hold Something Beautiful_ . . . as soon as I finish it, which I hope will be sooner rather than later.

 _._

Gray's mother was one the Dollar Princess. American heiresses, daughters of millionaires, sent to England to marry impoverished noblemen. The women had the money, the men had the titles. If, like me, you're a "Downton Abbey" fan, Cora was a dollar princess. In real life, both Winston Churchill's mother, Lady Randolph (Jennie) Churchill, and Princess Diana's great grandmother, the Honorable Mrs. Frances Burke-Roche were dollar princess.

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Her friend, Trudy, died of puerperal fever, more commonly called childbed fever, a bacterial infection of the uterus or genital tract. It usually appeared about three days after delivery, and before antibiotics, six to nine women out of every 1,000 deliveries could develop the infection, killing two or three of them with peritonitis or septicemia.

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"Come hither, hither, pretty fly." "The Spider and the Fly" by Mary Howitt

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"You are my North, my South, my East and West," she said, looking up at him. "My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song." Gray is paraphrasing _Stop all the Clocks_ , by W H Auden.

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pe. berkley . edu /history/ind. html

s-media-cache-ak0. pinimg 736x/cf/bd/ec/cfbdeccff480ed4b9867c1f9ce8c16e0. jpg

These are pictures I based two of the pictures Gray shows Edward on. The one of her, Sybbie, and Trudy at the tea party is based on the three Crawley sisters from the season finale of the first season of "Downton Abbey."


	21. Chapter 21

I'm excited to have just posted the first, teaser chapter of _To Hold Something Beautiful,_ the second half of the story begun here with _Stepping from Shadows._ Note the word *teaser.* The fic itself is still a work in progress. I'm breaking my own cardinal rule and publishing a chapter before the fic is finished, or at least close to finished, but I have good reason. As we've gotten to know Gray during _Stepping from Shadows_ we learned that she was a suffragette during her human lifetime. With tomorrow being election day here in the U.S., I thought this was a good time to remember that not even 100 years ago, women in th U.S. did not have the right to vote, and to say Thank You to all the real life women who risked everything and fought so that all of us could speak our minds. Tomorrow, thank a suffragette and go vote. I wish I could give you an estimate, or at least a guestimate, of when the full fic will be ready, but I just can't. Between work and home, I just don't have the time to write I once had. If you don't want to read the first chapter knowing the rest of the fic won't be coming any time soon, go ahead and Follow and come back later.

 _Men tell us 'tis fit that wives should submit  
To their husbands, submissively meekly,  
Tho' whatever they say their wives should obey,  
Unquestioning, stupidly, weakly;_

 _Let man if he will then bid us be still,  
And silent, a price he'll pay high for it,  
For we won't and we can't, and we don't and we shan't,  
Let us all speak our minds if we die for it! _

**"** **Let Us All Speak Our Minds"**  
A Suffragettes Song

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Now, for the teaser for the teaser!

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"Out of everything you've ever done, tell me what was the one most incredible thing."

They'd finished his eight miles together, and now they were walking through the woods not far from his house, holding hands and talking, trying to snatch as much time together as they could before his father missed him. As always, Edward was lost in her.

She looked at him in surprise. "I met you," she said, as if it should've been obvious.

He laughed. "No, seriously." Grace had lived through the entire twentieth century. Everything she'd experienced, it boggled his mind.

"Meeting you."

Edward rolled his eyes.

"If you were to ask me to name the most amazing ten or twenty or one hundred things I've ever done," Grace looked down at their joined hands, "everyone of them would involve you."

Her voice held nothing but sincerity, and Edward's chest felt warm.

"Before that, then."

Her surprise only grew at the question.

"You have to ask? Edward—I was a suffragette. Apart from meeting you, the most incredible thing I've ever done was vote."

Lost in her memories, her face and voice went dreamy.

"You can't understand what it was like. You've never been told that because of your sex, you weren't entitled to have your own opinions, let alone to express them. A woman was told what her opinions were to be—first by her father, then later, by her husband. To walk into that polling place beside Carlisle that first time and cast my own vote, for my vote to count equally to his . . . There are no words."

Edward tried to imagine it. He couldn't.

She touched the base of her throat. "I wore my mother's brooch." She came back to the present with a smile that held a range of emotions. "I was jubilant, but it was bittersweet. I missed her so much. I'd have given anything for her to be there."

They walked on.

"I think, if I had lived, I should have liked to run for office some day."

Edward could see that.

"I saw Madame Curie speak at Vassar in 1921," she said, changing the subject. "That was . . ." Words failed her, but her face showed him what she couldn't articulate. She was radiant.

Edward scratched the back of his neck. Madame Curie. Grace had seen Madame Curie speak over ninety years ago. At Vassar. Where she'd earned a degree in Greek and Latin.

He had a B+ in Biology II.

"Imagine a dozen World Series, Super Bowls, and NBA Championships, all rolled into one. She was my idol," Grace said. "And Amelia Earhart. I adored her. I was inconsolable when she went missing. We were living in Forks at the time, actually."

Grace clasped her hands together and held them under her chin, grinning and arching an eyebrow.

"And slacks."

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I hope you'll go and check it out! Or Follow and read later!


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